


The Cursed Thirteen

by Nitroglycerin



Category: Eragon (2006), The Inheritance Cycle - Christopher Paolini
Genre: Attempted Murder, Betaed, Bonding, Dubious Consent, Elves, Enemies to Friends to Lovers, F/M, Father-Daughter Relationship, Grey Folk, Hurt/Comfort, Jealousy, Murder, Murder-Suicide, Mystery, Other Additional Tags to Be Added, Prophecy, Queen in the North, Rape/Non-con Elements, Romance, Sex, Suicide Attempt, Unrequited Love, Victim Blaming
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2017-08-19
Updated: 2018-11-12
Packaged: 2018-12-17 10:26:15
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence, Rape/Non-Con
Chapters: 28
Words: 88,466
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/11849646
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Nitroglycerin/pseuds/Nitroglycerin
Summary: Norvedrgarde is a lost city deep in the North of Du Weldenvarden, locked away from prying eyes, until its heir will open gates to the city and release what is hiding behind them. Eragon has always thought Galbatorix will be his greatest enemy and his greatest task in his life. Oh, how wrong he was. There, in the North lurks darkness in the shadows.





	1. Prologue - The Grey Queen

**Author's Note:**

> This is my first story for Inheritace Cycle, which might be considered a dead fandom, but that is not going to stop me from publishing one fanfiction to it. Paolini started Eragon with a chapter, where Eragon was not even mentioned. I thought this would be a good start. Next chapter will be from Eragon's POV.

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> The end of Grey Folk and the beginning of an unfortunate dynasty.
> 
> Beta reader: Dragonblooded

 

There is only one thing scarier than knowing Death comes for you. When he doesn't. When even the Grim Reaper refuses to take you. When he avoids you like the plague.

A group of grey-skinned people stood in a wide circle. They surrounded a triad of black stones on the cracked ground, the gaps releasing black sulphurous fumes into the air. Every person in the circle was connected to those next to them by white threads of swirling untamed energy. They all had one purpose in their minds. They all knew the price.

A huge wave of energy crashed down upon the circle, releasing itself from their bodies and aiming directly towards the middle. The black clouds retreated between the three dark stones as if scared. There they stayed, trying to lash out at the energy that burned them. They were stopped by a white barrier, barely visible, locking the darkness inside.

The darkness curled viciously into itself, forgetting the people around it. 

One of these people watched the results of their spell in fear. It fed off of their energy until there was nothing left, and the people, one by one, fell apart, turning to dust. It started with one person and the people next to him followed, and then those next to them and so on.

She knew this was necessary. Everything they knew, they loved and admired, would be lost without their sacrifice. To ensure the ritual's success, they each had to die. The blood magic seal could be broken only by blood of its creator. There could be no witnesses.

Despite knowing this, she was scared of Death. She, the youngest of them all, did not want her life to end just yet. As the spell took its price from her neighbours, she forcibly tore herself from the circle. As she fell, her magic was ripped out of her. She was left utterly drained, but alive.

Beside her, the Grey Folk disappeared from the land of living.

 *************

She later regretted not dying then and there. She searched for Death at every opportunity, but it avoided her path, not once nearing it. When she realized she did not deserve an honourable death, she tried to walk into Death’s arms herself. But yet, no matter what, the Death was still running away from her.

Her life had lost all meaning, until the elves sailed from Alalea. Without a common language, as they soon discovered, they had a connection purer than any other words before. They understood each other. The Ancient Language, the elves named it. They happily accepted her amongst them. Aside from her age, and her grey skin and hair, she became quite like them.

Together they built cities hidden from the dragons, who roamed the sky from time to time. There, amongst them, she found purpose, a reason to live again. And the youngest prince of the elves found purpose with her, too.

Once she had him, she could not have imagined leaving him. She would die as last of her line ―she had come to peace with that ― and with that her line and her race would end. They would all be safe.

It wasn’t long until even that wish of hers was broken. She and her beloved came to expect a child, and she dreaded the moment of its birth. And dread, fear, they do terrible things to people. When a baby girl was born, she held linens over her little face. She had to end her bloodline, before it spread further.

Before the deed was done, her beloved interrupted her, and without hesitation put a sword through her back. As she bled out, her loved one standing over her with disgust in his eyes, the realization hit her. She had failed. At everything. She didn’t even finish her last words: “The North… .” And with that the last of the pure Grey Folk died.

*************

Her daughter was called Líadan the Grey, and she was brought up by her father. No matter how she tried, Líadan never fit in. Some elves admired her differences. Others hated her for it. Her hair was never the bright silver of the others', but a dull grey. Her skin never reflected light in the breathtaking elvish way, but consumed it in its greyish colour. Her grey eyes were so empty that no one could stand to look into them for long.

When her father’s brother – the king – announced a need to explore further North, past Du Weldenvarden, she gladly offered herself for the task. The king gladly agreed. Forty elven families would go with her and secure the North by building a town there.

Her father did not support her choice, but in the end, as a parting gift, he brought her a sword. She called him Argelion. That was the last time she would ever see her father.

In the North they easily found the proper land for a great town. They built there a flourishing camp, but every time a building rose, it was knocked down in the night by strange creatures Líadan had never seen before.

One day, she gathered one elf from each family and decided to follow these creatures deeper into the North. Eventually, they found their nest. Three dark stones stood upon the shattered ground and from beneath this triangle the creatures appeared. Líadan and the elves fought them, all avoiding that triangle, as if something primal was telling them not to step inside.

Líadan was attacked by two creatures that looked like dark wild wolves, but only half of them was made of flesh. The other half was partly obscured by black sulphuric fumes, only sometimes revealing rotting bones. Instead kill her, they pushed her inside the triangle and everything faded to black.

When she woke up, she was laying just outside the triangle. Next to her, sitting in a pool of blood, was a black crown decorated with thorns and thirteen Hellebore blossoms, one of them bigger than others. In the middle of each blossom was a diamond. On the bottom of the crown were forged long lines of strange symbols she couldn’t read.

The crown started sucking in the blood around it. It glowed, as if radiating with a bloodfed joy. Confused, Líadan noticed a deafening silence around her. She was not hurt. It was not her blood. When she looked around, she saw the ground covered in bodies, torn to shreds, not a trace of elf or creature. Líadan cried over the loss. She couldn’t even recognize her fighters. All the parts she saw had been drained of their blood.

Líadan gathered the crown, pressed it tightly to her chest, and left that strange place. When she returned to the rest of the group, she was on the verge of death, and she wore a black crown upon her head. She told no one what had happened. The families held a vigil for their loved ones, who never returned with Líadan.

The thirteenth day of silence Líadan pulled them from their stupor. She told them about her plans to build the town, not only as a way to secure the North, but also as a memory of their loved ones. They soon found a strange black ore they called Dauthhvass, from which they built their village.

The strange creatures tried to attack a few times more, but every time Líadan came close to them, they ran away screeching in fear. Eventually, after many years of hard work, their task was finished. A black castle stood atop a hill surrounded by houses and lands all protected by high strong walls. They called it Norvedrgarde. The elven king named Líadan the Lady of the town, but it was so far from his reach that it gained independence. With the support of the elven families, Líadan rose from their Lady to their Queen. She became known to others as The Grey Queen.

Not long after her coronation, she had a child with an elf from one of the houses in Norvedrgarde, a little girl with pale greyish skin and surprisingly crimson eyes and hair. The Grey Queen didn’t know the first time she looked in those eyes that she looked in the eyes of a murderer.

Nor did she know that fourteen years later, that would be how the reign of Líadan the Grey would end.


	2. Calm before the Storm

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Urgals just joined Vardens for the Battle of the Burning Plains.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Beta-reader: Dragonblooded

 

Eragon hurried through the camp toward Nasuada’s tent, fifteen minutes late.  He had been summoned from the other side of the area occupied by the Varden, a people he had decided to support in their struggle against a common enemy. Eragon knew this meeting was important, since the inevitable battle, likely to take place on the Burning Plains, was close.

A guard standing at the entrance of Nasuada’s tent spotted him from afar and stuck his head inside the opening to announce his arrival. Eragon nodded at him gratefully and headed inside. Saphira was currently on a hunt, but he felt her at the edge of his mind, listening to everything happening around him.

Nasuada shot him a quick glance as he stepped inside the tent, but immediately returned her attention to Nar Garzhvog, who was sitting in front of her. Only a table was between them, to Eragon’s displeasure. Their alliance was only a few hours old, and Eragon was still wary. King Orrin was also present at the table. Next to Nasuada were Arya and Elva. A soldier armoured from head to toe stood behind Garzhvog, as added security. Eragon looked at him doubtfully. The man was so thin he would break like a twig if he got in an Urgal’s, let alone a Kull’s, way.

“Forgive me, Nar Garzhvog, but I must refuse. The Varden is far better than it once was, but we simply cannot afford to feed you and your people, particularly when Urgals are known to eat twice as much as normal men,” Nasuada said politely, but firmly. Eragon’s blood started to boil when he realized what the Kull had asked of his Lady. He immediately went and stood next to her.

The soldier guarding Nar Garzhvog bent his head toward his ear and started whispering furiously. Not even elven ears could pick up what they said. It suddenly dawned on Eragon that this was not a Varden soldier chosen to keep an eye on the Kull, but a soldier of the Urgals.

 _I did not expect Urgals to accept mercenaries._ Eragon muttered to Saphira, who growled in response. His connection to Saphira reminded him to open his mind towards his surroundings. Oromis’ advice rang inside his head. It is better to have an open mind and face the risk of an attack than to be blind to what is coming your way.

He carefully reached out to touch Garzhvog’s mind, hidden behind slick stone walls. From time to time he caught something, but it immediately slipped from his grasp. Then his mind flowed into the soldier’s.

As soon as he reached out with his mind, he had to withdraw back behind his shields. A painful hiss escaped him, earning him some strange looks from the people in the tent. Saphira’s attention shifted from a stag with hopes to outrun her to him. He hid his shock behind a blank expression. Eragon felt Arya’s eyes remain on him. Usually, that alone would make him think of her and nothing else.

Not this time, though. He was stunned. Never had he felt such a strange mind. Completely enclosed in stone-cold walls with spikes protruding from them, it was ready to fend off any person who got too close. And Eragon had gotten rather close. He felt as if his mind had been burnt where it had touched the other, though there was no fire.

 _Little one, are you alright?_ Saphira asked. He sent her reassurances and focused once more on the Kull, who had started to speak again.

“Lady Nightstalker, we understand. But it would be unwise for us to hunt with enemies so close. If I can help it, there will be no loss of life due to hunger.” Nar Garzhvog spoke Eragon’s language with a rough accent. “We can offer you some weapons in exchange for food. Once the battle has passed, we can start taking care of this trouble ourselves. But until then, I insist on enough food for my men.”

Nasuada sighed heavily, obviously worn down by the constant troubles recently finding their way into the light. “Very well then, Nar Garzhvog you shall have it. Give the cooks a list of how much your people will need. And while some weapons would be useful, not many will appreciate Urgal weapons.”

“We have not only our weapons, but some from your people, a few from the dwarves and even one from elves. We have no use for most of these and will gladly pay our debts with them.” Nasuada nodded in acceptance.

The Varden leader bent forward and unrolled a map laying in front of her. “I believe it is time to discuss our strategies. We have some spies in our ranks. Creating a strategy this late might confuse them and their reports.” She then started to put flags of units under her command on the map.

Garzhvog suddenly got up from his chair. “I believe it is time to exchange my place for my …” The Kull searched for an accurate word. “… the closest would be sister. She is our best strategist. And we are so heavily outnumbered, we must use all the help we can get. She planned battles for Stavarosk,” Garzhvog looked so proud, Eragon thought he might burst.

“Do not exaggerate, brother mine,” answered a surprisingly soft voice, muted more so by a helmet, which the soldier took off. Eragon heard sharp gasps of breath from everyone in the tent, including himself.

An elf-girl put her helmet on the table and took a seat, unbothered by the stares. Her head was crowned by a silver braid, slowly disappearing beneath her armour. Her face looked feline and sharp, like most elves, but her skin appeared almost ashen. Eragon stepped back and diverted his stare the moment her cold blue eyes bore into his.

King Orrin suddenly stood, outraged. “What is this trick? You brought Islanzadí’s spy to us?!”

Arya growled and put a hand on the handle of her sword. “Don’t insult us, human. That sort of trickery sounds quite like something you would do, but it is certainly beneath us. I assure you, she has nothing to do with my mother.” Orrin stared at Arya and opened and closed his mouth few times.

Nasuada stood and slammed her palms on the table. “I believe none of us have extra time to spare bickering, so let us stop wasting it and instead focus on what must be done.” Arya nodded and stepped back, her hand leaving her sword. Orrin grumpily sat back as well. Nasuada nodded towards Garzhvog. “Would you please explain us this situation?” She gestured between the Kull and the elf.

“There is nothing to explain, Lady Nightstalker. Garzhvog’s parents found me when I was six years old. Instead of killing me, they raised me according to their traditions. At the age of sixteen I went through the same rituals as an Urgal warrior, and when given the chance, I presented my strategies. They paid off. After that, I proved myself to our leaders until I was allowed to lead my own unit,” the newcomer said with a smirk that reminded Eragon of Vanir.

Orrin shouted, “What?! Nasuada, you can’t accept advice from this… this… abomination! She is not a pure elf, not even a real Urgal. Where does her loyalty lie? What can this girl know about wars and strategies?!”

“King Orrin, let us call things by their real names. Mine is Marzanna. Tell me,” she spat, “What do you know of loyalty? Your people follow you, just because you were lucky enough to be born into a family who achieved years ago something great. You only live off of their success. Besides blood, by what right are you a King? My people follow me because of my achievements, because they believe in me. Trust me when I say that Urgal traditions are made for only the toughest of us, and yet I proved myself against those odds.

Tell me, King Orrin, what is your great strategy for this battle? Do you plan to just ride against them and fight, and hope that you will beat your odds, too? I have more than one hundred years of experience. I think we can safely state that I have a better grasp on this than you.” She finished with a terrifyingly calm voice. Marzanna silenced his interruptions. As an afterthought, she added, “If my loyalty worries you, consider me an Urgal in all ways but looks.”

King Orrin sat back in his chair and looked expectingly at Nasuada. She only sighed, obviously torn. Finally, she spoke: “I am afraid, Marzanna, that we cannot accept your help in this. Nar Garzhvog leads his people, but we do not know anything about you. We cannot rely on his word alone to ensure you are on our side.”

Marzanna nodded without argument and collected her helmet as she rose from her chair. “Very well, but remember, we did not promise you our fealty, merely our alliance. And as such, we will command our own strategy in this battle. I thought, Lady Nightstalker, that you were in no position to refuse help, but I see I was wrong.” Eragon saw outrage in Nar Garzhvog, but to his surprise, the Kull allowed Marzanna to handle the situation. “We shall be leaving then, but to avoid shedding our people's blood for a people who would not do the same for us, we will be taking the east-south corner of the army.” With that, she whipped around and left, with the Kull behind her.

The tension in the tent immediately disappeared. Eragon looked at the map presented by Nasuada and counted. “Did she really mean that? They will be outnumbered seven to one. Even for Urgals it seems a bit...much,” he exclaimed.

Nasuada seemed surprised by it, too. “We shall see. You know their strength. We shall continue as before.”

*************

It was only a few hours until they would charge at the King’s Army. Eragon lazily sat in his saddle on Saphira, playing with a dagger. He was upset by Nasuada forcing four Urgals into his guard, even though he understood her decision. Eragon still had their memories on the surface of his mind.

He paid little attention to what happened behind his back. He relied on Orik to protect him. What caught his attention was the rough language of the Urgals, spoken in a soft voice. It gave him goosebumps, the way they clashed. Eragon easily slid from his saddle to the ground. He had wanted to speak with Marzanna since he saw her for the first time. Saphira was just as curious as him.

Marzanna was barely visible, basically hidden in her brother’s arms. They only thing Eragon could see was her grey sword. As she pulled away from her brother’s hug, the Rider stepped closer to them. He waited a few seconds before he spoke. “Atra esterní ono thelduin.” She raised an eyebrow.

“I am afraid, Firesword, that I do not speak the ancient language, except for very few words. And none of them are the ones you have said.” She finished with a smirk on her lip, something Eragon had started to believe was almost permanent to her. Then Eragon remembered. She had not grown up amongst people who would speak the language. There was no reason for her to know it. Marzanna let her eyes roam over his body, not even bothering to hide it. Eragon did not want to give her the satisfaction of knowing he was uncomfortable, yet he could not hide a shiver.

When she finished with her inspection, she bowed slightly, clearly ridiculing any gestures of politeness. “It was a pleasure meeting you. Now, if you will allow me, I shall....”

“No, I won’t,” he said without a second thought. He so badly wanted to wipe that smirk off of her face that he decided to play her game. He regretted it the second he realized he that he did not know how to continue. “May I take a look at your sword? I believe I recognize the work of elves?”

He noticed her posture stiffen. Eragon felt a little guilty. He had already learnt it was no good to make enemies amongst elves. She said, “I am afraid I have to refuse. You wouldn't give your sword to an enemy willingly, would you?” She then sighed and unsheathed it anyhow, laying the blade carefully on her hand for him to see. “I do not know for sure who made it, but I believe your assumptions are right. I only remember running at the edge of woods, carrying a sword I could barely lift, not knowing where to go. After my parents took me in, they took it from me, and gave it back when I proved myself a proper warrior.”

Eragon inspected the sword. It was very delicate, detailed work. He expected to see a thin and rather short blade, as he saw Arya carry. Yet, the sword bore a blade only a little thinner than Zar’roc’s. Unlike his sword, the pommel did not have a gemstone inside. Yet, the sword scared him just as much as his red one.

When he looked at the sword as a whole, he felt as though it rang a bell, but he could not place it. He asked Saphira, but neither could she. “Does it have a name?”

“Not one that I would know.”

“There is a great blacksmith I met, when I was training with the elves. She is called Rhunön. She would be able to tell you a lot about this sword.”

 _Eragon, don’t tell her more, how can we know if we can trust her?_ Saphira warned. Eragon immediately regretted how reckless of him it was to reveal what he had already. Her looks confused him. He sorted her with all the familiar elves he knew, yet her mind, behaviour, and speech were so different. “You should name it, so all people realize what is coming their way.”

She gave him another smirk. “They won’t have time for that.” With that, she turned on her heel and left. Eragon was surprised by her sudden departure. He did not realize Garzhvog had been listening to them until he spoke.

“You must forgive her, Firesword. She has always been rather brazen. But that is what her unit loves her most for, and what the rest of our population hates her most for,” sighed the Kull.

Eragon looked up at him, no longer feeling the resentment toward him. “Nar Garzhvog, you mentioned a strange name in the tent. Stavarosk, was it? What is it?”

“What is this treachery, Firesword? How can you not know one of our greatest accomplishments?” exclaimed Garzhvog. The Urgals behind him muttered angrily as well. The group of dwarves sharpening their blades stopped all of a sudden,  ready to take care of the Urgals should they decide to harm Eragon. Even Saphira growled, putting a halt to all the angry chatter.

“Please, forgive me, but I truly do not know what you are talking about,” Eragon said.

“That drajl! Stavarosk is the battle where we slaughtered more than half of the king’s army. He is so scared to let the world know of our success! Nar Tulkhqa united our tribes for the survival of our race. Otherwise, the king would wipe us out. We were so heavily outnumbered, the chance of us winning so small. But we crushed them,” the Kull murmured with a hint of pride.

“So that is where half of Galbatorix’s army disappeared to! How did you manage it?” asked Eragon, amazed. _That_ was the secret of the Spine.

Garzhvog straightened. “Nar Tulkhqa knew our chances. He had had a few ideas of how we might be able to win. But he decided to ask all the young ones who had completed their maturity trial how they would fight this army. Most of them agreed that we should crush them with sheer force. But my sister came with a few interesting ideas our Warchief liked. So, he decided to use her.

She suggested we lure them into a tight mountain pass, where they had to divide their forces. Then, we cleaned out some passages in between the trees, so we could roll boulders through them. We managed to cut them into even smaller groups, and pushed some of them into the river. Their heavy armour did the rest of the job. It was a massacre.”

Eragon was stunned into silence. “Many urgralgras wanted to kill my sister for suggesting something so degrading. We fight directly with strength, not indirectly with smarts, even though I would rather not admit it. After the battle everyone knew we would have lost without her ideas. 

Before our tribes parted, Nar Tulkhqa made her a captain of her own unit. Since then she has been choosing her soldiers very carefully and trains them in her own way. Not everyone agrees with it. My people do not like strangers and they do not like an elf leading urgals. Even after so many years.”

Nar Garzhvog looked sharply at the Urgals behind him, who repaid him with a nasty glance back. Eragon tried to process all the information. “It seems to me like you admire her greatly.”

The Kull laughed. It sounded like thunder to Eragon’s sensitive ears. “I do. When I was growing up, she was fully grown already. I dreamed of being like her. Many urgralgras have thought they can challenge her as leader of her unit and win. Many urgralgras were wrong. It was because of her that I chose to prove my strength by killing the bear of Beor Mountains.”

Eragon thanked Garzhvog for explaining so much to him. The Kull seemed pleased and backed away from Saphira’s seat. _That was an interesting conversation. Urgals are just as difficult as we are, if not more,_ said Eragon to Saphira.

_They may be difficult, but they are not the one insistent upon standing to Galbatorix himself, Little one. Get some rest. I will wake you when it is necessary._


	3. War does not determine who is right - only who is left

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> The Battle of Burning Plains from a slightly different perspective with slightly different turn of events.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I am slowly derailing from the original story, I hate to rewrite scenes, which already exist. We will get there soon. Next chapter is the aftermath.
> 
> Beta-reader: Dragonblooded

The terror of the battle had long been rampaging over the Burning Plains when Eragon finally got a moment to take a few breaths. Since the middle of the night both armies has been fighting. Eragon’s energy was nearly depleted, but his protective spells continued to feed off of him.

He could see the battle was taking its toll on his men. The dwarves in his guard swung their axes slower than before. The Urgals’ strength was not what it had been. Eragon could feel even Saphira tiring of the battle, despite her huge reserve of energy.

From his saddle he managed to take a head or two from some of the King’s soldiers. Every time Trianna called to him after finding an opposing wizard, Eragon tried to help. But they were constantly surrounded by their enemies, trying to stab Saphira. She would easily swing her tail and crush a few of them to make a path.

When the beautiful blue dragoness got them to a safe distance, Eragon noticed a hanging shadow protecting him from the fresh sunrise. He looked up and noticed a huge white cloud on the east, hiding the sun.

An arrow whizzed next to his ear and brought him back to land. Despair filled him. When would this end? Despite his focus on his enemies, he could not overlook the terrors the battle left on the land behind him.

Moving out of the range of the enemy archers, they flew towards the sky. Eragon tried to grasp what was happening underneath him. He saw Nasuada’s unit reduced almost by one fourth.

Eragon looked to the east and saw the Urgal army fighting their way through their enemies with surprising ease. Two smaller units surrounded one rather large unit, all looking rather worn down, but they still fought with inhuman strength, flinging King’s soldiers to all sides in pieces. The way the fought reminded Eragon of the battle of Farther Dûr. He tried to suppress his disgust with the creatures with the new things he had learned from them.

The larger group looked very different from the others. Eragon didn’t need to think twice about who led those Urgals. Their fighting was more organized, and unlike the others, they didn’t look tired at all. Eragon remembered Urgals relying mostly on their strength and anything they could swing with it that might damage their enemies. They always attacked, rarely defended. These Urgals used their weapons more thoughtfully.

When they had the chance to attack, they did so, fatally. But as soon as they saw the chance disappear, they flowed into a defensive position. They cut their way through the Imperial Army, always separating a small group of soldiers from the rest in a circle. The inner ring slaughtered the trapped soldiers and the outer ring protected their friends' backs.

Eragon spotted a few offensive spells flying their way, but they slipped over the group’s magic shields, not harming a single one of them. The Rider had to commend their spellcasters; they did an amazing job protecting their own.

Saphira flew him over rows of soldiers, roasting them alive in their armour. Meanwhile, Eragon searched for other spellcasters. But they were smart. They avoided him, hiding their minds amongst normal soldiers. The Rider felt lost for a time, until his army below erupted in excited shouts, which seemed to infuse their blood with new strength.

It took him a while to realize what was happening. The dwarves had arrived. _Show them!_ Eragon shouted to his beloved dragoness. She roared loudly, getting the attention of all beneath them, and painted the sky in front of her with blue fire, announcing to everyone that they were not lost.

With renewed hope, Eragon started to search for spellcasters again, this time discovering two, whom he easily overpowered and killed. He felled their proteges with one of the twelve killing words. It didn’t even cost him much energy.

The Varden, encouraged by the sight of their enemies falling in such numbers, attacked with a new fire in their blood. The joy, however, did not last long, as rhythmical thuds began to pierce his eardrums. With fear, he looked up to sky and saw a ruby dragon appear between the clouds, bearing a rider dressed all in black on his back.

“No!” Eragon shouted as he saw red lightning directed at Hrothgar, killing him on the spot. _Show them who we really are,_ he encouraged Saphira. Saphira roared and attacked the foreign dragon from the side, clawing her way into his wing.

The dragon roared back in anger and swung his tail at her, almost hitting Eragon with it. The few times the Rider got a chance to attack the other one, Eragon noted that the Rider was just as fast as him. The red Rider’s sword flew dangerously close to Eragon’s face, and he only barely managed to stop the attack with Zar’roc.

It was soon obvious to him that the two of them were losing. Saphira was bigger than the other dragon, but after fighting for so many hours in the battle, they were both on the verge of total exhaustion. So when the spells began to fly, not even the energy from the belt of Beloth the Wise could save them. 

 _How can he be this strong? They can’t have been dragon and rider for more than few months!_ Eragon exclaimed to Saphira.

 _Galbatorix must have somehow given them more power. He must have magically induced that midget's growth spurt._ They found themselves in a body-binding spell, which only allowed Saphira enough freedom to keep herself aloft. If the red Rider desired, he could let them fall to their death. Eragon used all the energy they had left to try weaken the spell, just as Oromis had taught him.

In only a few seconds, though, it became obvious their battle was lost battle. But yet another surprise waited for Eragon, arriving when the Rider took off his helmet.

“Murtagh!” shouted Eragon in disbelief. “I thought you were dead! I tried to scry you.”

“I tried, too, but it didn’t work out for either of us, now did it?” Murtagh said with a bitter lace to his voice. He then proceeded to tell them what happened to him, introduce his dragon Thorn and explain to them that Saphira was the last female dragon. He waited until the last moment to fly his dragon closer to Eragon and wrench Zar’roc from his grip, announcing their familial status, even confirming it in the ancient language. It was clear to them that Murtagh planned on taking them to Uru’baen.

 _If you were to choose between death or slavery, which would you pick?_ Eragon asked mournfully, already knowing the answer.

Saphira replied sadly, _Our death would doom the Varden and all we have fought for, but it would be a less painful fate than Galbatorix gaining another dragon and rider._ He could feel her remorse. The Varden would not be the only one doomed. The entire dragon race would be, too.

Eragon was just preparing a spell as a last resort, but before he could say it, he saw something in his peripheral vision. Before he could register what it was, it came with a surprising speed into his direct sight, aiming at Thorn’s uncovered neck.

He expected for it to bounce off of Murtagh’s magic shields, but instead it flew right through them, shattering them to pieces as if they were made of glass. It pierced through Thorn's throat and flew out the other side, flying off into the distance.

A load roar erupted from the red dragon, causing the battle beneath them to freeze. Everyone watched in shock as blood poured from the hurt dragon. Murtagh shouted his dragon’s name, releasing Eragon and Saphira from his spell.

Both Riders quickly looked back towards the “something” that had saved them **.** They got a very short glance of a bright white sword covered in dragon’s blood falling toward the ground before it suddenly disappeared with a loud crack.

Saphira and Thorn both began to lose altitude. The red dragon was badly hurt, still losing a lot of blood, which fell on the Imperial Army. He could hear their shouting as it burnt them. Saphira managed to weakly glide towards an plateau on the ground, safely away from the battle. The landing was rather rough, Saphira’s legs too weak to hold their weight.

Eragon caught a glimpse of Murtagh desperately trying to heal Thorn's injuries with a round object. He had not finished before he disappeared behind the shadow of a river. Before Eragon fell into unconsciousness, his mind registered one thing. There was a distinct drop in temperature, and his armour began to gather a layer of rime.

*************

The battle had ended. The Varden had won, but with terrible losses. _Is this war really worth so many lives?_ asked Eragon, defeated.

 _Yes, for those who have died would die again under the reign of Galbatorix_. They both walked over the battlefield. Eragon tried to save those who were left behind, sometimes taking energy from the hurt, sometimes from their surroundings.

From what he saw, despite their victory, the losses on their side were not small at all. They found their way to Nasuada.

When he entered her tent, Nasuada immediately looked up. “Eragon! I was just about to send Arya to find you. What happened?”

Eragon told her what Murtagh had said, and about their fight. From time to time he had to pause his report, because couriers came with numbers for Nasuada. She always dutifully noted them before they continued.

“White sword? I will begin a search for the owner of a white sword. If Murtagh is as strong as you say, we might need their help.” Eragon nodded tiredly. Arya was looking at him with worry.

“You should be careful, Nasuada. That person may have been aiming for Saphira,” Arya said. A terrible feeling washed over Eragon, of how close they might had been to death. His leader nodded and sighed.

Another courier ran into the tent and whispered something to Nasuada. Eragon frowned. When the boy left, he asked her, “What are they all about?”

“I am trying to manage this chaos. We need to know how many people we lost and soon, we will need to start preparing their funerals. We can’t give them all burials, only cremations. Then, there are the numbers of people who are severely hurt.”

“How many did we lose?”

Nasuada told them the Varden and Surdan losses. “I don’t have numbers from the dwarves, but Hrothgar’s death was a terrible act. He died along with many dwarven spellcasters. He supported us, but his successor might not have so much faith. The Urgals were lucky. They were not decimated like the rest of us. Barely so,” said Nasuada with a slight tone of admiration. Then, she slowly exhaled. “Maybe I should have allowed Marzanna to help us. I suppose it is too late now.”

Eragon, with tired eyes cast at the ground, looked up to Nasuada. “What do you mean?”

“Nar Garzhvog sent us a message. Apparently she disappeared somewhere during the battle and she has not returned so far. Her body has not been found.” She stayed silent for a while, lost in her thoughts. “This will mean more trouble for us. She was leading the biggest part of the Urgals’ army, and now they must choose a new leader. And that tends to get rather messy.”

Eragon nodded mindlessly, eyes fluttering. “Eragon? Eragon!” He glanced upward. “Just go rest. Come to me once you have recovered.”

As he left her tent, he watched the people who had not fought in the battle - mostly women - run around the battlefield, trying to sort through the mess. If they found anyone alive, healers ran to him, and tried their best to repair any fatal wounds. If they were successful, others carried them away. Another group carried the corpses of their fallen friends onto prepared wooden beddings for their last rest. Others were taking care of Galbatorix’s soldiers in a similar, yet less honourable manner.

And for the first time in his life, Eragon was ashamed to be a fighter.


	4. Aftermath

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Aftermath of the battle.
> 
> Beta-reader: Dragonblooded

The dawn after the battle a courier came to fetch Eragon for Nasuada. Now, he stood by her side in her tent, glaring across the table at King Orrin and a young girl, whose face was mostly hidden behind her long raven hair. Right in the middle of the table lay a thin short white sword.

“So, Orrin,” Nasuada said carefully, evaluating every word, “This is the girl who managed to chase away the red dragon?” The king nodded eagerly, obviously pleased with himself.

“Yes, she is my close friend’s daughter, and half-elven. As a child, she demonstrated quite a talent for spellcasting, and now she is under my protection. As for the sword, it was a gift from her father, made of some rare metals we mined in Surda,” explained Orrin. He looked toward her. “Don’t be shy. Show them your face.”

The girl brushed her hair away. Eragon studied her thoroughly. She was a pretty girl, according to human standards, but he couldn’t see many elven features on her, except for her slightly pointed ears. They looked a bit like his, before he had been changed by the dragons. For a while, he didn’t believe the claim of her improbable heritage. But then he remembered Marzanna and smiled bitterly. She was improbable, too. Even his own story was quite unlikely. _Perhaps I shouldn't_ _judge her so quickly._

Nasuada nodded, acknowledging what Orrin had said. Their situation was not in their favor. Eragon knew she would understand how she needed to proceed: carefully. “May we examine the sword?” Orrin suddenly grew wary. He reluctantly nodded.

The Varden leader then gestured towards Orik, who was standing on her other side, specifically for that matter. He looked tired and beaten, but prepared to do anything to avenge his adoptive father. He reached for the sword and inspected it thoroughly. He was not an expert in weapons, but as a dwarf, he could recognize metals and composition. When he was finished, he returned the sword on the table.

“It is mostly silver-laced steel, I'd say, covered by a thick layer of platinum and rhodium. It is certainly fine and delicate work. Must have cost a fortune. But I don’t see how a sword like this could pierce through dragon’s scales,” murmered Orik. “Anyway, my lady, thank you for doing so.”

Nasuada stopped to think. There was heavy silence in the tent. Eragon pondered the same thing. If a sword like this could slay dragons, it would be an expensive creation, but a far better option than spells alone. _Damn spells,_ Eragon could almost hear Nasuada think. He smirked for a moment. “Lady… Malvolia was it?” When the girl nodded, Nasuada continued. “You are not a battlefield spellcaster. How did you find yourself there?”

“I am appointed as a healer, m'lady. My father wouldn’t allow me to fight in the battles, but when I saw the red dragon, I had to do something. So I ran to the west part of the battle and hid behind the rocks. When I had the chance I used my spells to throw my sword through the air and into the dragon.”

“I was informed that the sword was fired from the east side,” said Nasuada with a smile. King Orrin suddenly slammed his fist on the table. The sword rattled from the impact.

“Are you suggesting we are liars? After we saved your greatest warrior?” shouted Orrin angrily. He reached for the sword to move it closer to them.

Nasuada looked at him calmly. “Forgive me, King Orrin. I did not intend to insult you or Lady Malvolia. I am just compiling my facts.”

When no one spoke, Malvolia piped up. “I assure you, I am not offended. It is hard to tell which side it was fired from, considering it is subjective to the spectator.” The Varden leader nodded.

“Alright, I understand. Would you be willing to share your spells with us? It might be the difference between winning or losing.” Malvolia wanted to speak, but Orrin started first, quieting her in the process.

“I won’t allow that, Nasuada. You have Eragon, because he swore an oath to you. The dwarves have Eragon, because he is a member of their clan. The elves have Eragon, because he needs them for his training. I have had nothing until now. You keep the Dragon Rider, and I will keep the Dragon Slayer. “

This exclamation made Eragon’s blood boil. “What? This is important. How am I supposed to defeat Galbatorix when you deny me the knowledge of how to do it? And she hasn't killed a dragon, yet. Murtagh healed Thorn – his dragon.” Nasuada gave him a stern look and Eragon took a step back. He shouldn’t have spoken.

“Ah, and will you share all your elven knowledge with us, if we give you this information? They train you, not us, ” said Orrin smugly. “Now, I believe our conversation is finished, I have important matters to take care of.” He got up and gestured for Malvolia to follow.

There was a silence in the tent. Nasuada sagged in her seat. She looked ten years older, as though anything she did would tire her. “I think you should both go,” she said softly, “Tomorrow will be the funeral of the fallen. It would be good for morale if you made an appearance.”

Eragon nodded and together with Orik departed from the tent. Orik followed him to his tent. The dwarf looked pale, almost a little haunted. At every loud sound he fidgeted, looking behind himself.

 _Maybe you should ask him about it. We can’t afford to lose his friendship. It must have been hard for him to lose Hrothgar,_ Saphira said to him mourningly.

“Orik? Are you alright? I am sorry about King Hrothgar. He was a good king, and always pleasant to me. If it wasn’t for him, we would never have been brothers. I appreciate his gesture even more now.”

“Thank you, Eragon. That is kind of you to say. I will always miss Hrothgar. He would have wanted to die in battle, axe to axe, not by a lousy spell. This will bring so much other trouble with it. I will be leaving soon for Farthen Dûr. The new king must be chosen, and my clan needs me,” complained Orik, as if forgetting for a moment why he was so inconvenienced. It was only a few seconds before the haunted look returned to his face. “Eragon, I… I don’t know how to say this.”

Eragon knew they had touched the core of Orik’s troubles. “You know you can trust me.”

“I do, but this is not a matter of _otho_. It is an affair of safety. I saw something...on the battlefield...something no one was probably supposed to see. If it was revealed somehow - what I know - I would be in terrible danger. I may already be. I do not want to endanger you as well. It is….”

He went silent as Nar Garzhvog approached them. He looked mournful, but as intimidating as ever. Orik growled quietly and clutched the handle of his axe.

“Nar Garzhvog,” said Eragon respectfully, “I mourn for your loss, too. But I heard you fared well in the battle. You should be proud of yourself.”

The Kull nodded. “Thank you, Firesword, but I cannot take credit for it. I was not the strategist.” A wistfully nostalgic smile appeared.

“Do you have any idea what happened to her? I heard she was nowhere to be found. There is still a chance she is lost and alive.”

“Some urgralgras believe she ran away at the sight of the red dragon. But that is a lie. I have known her all my life and she never ran away from a battle, no matter the odds. She had faced worse than an army with a dragon.” The Kull then shook his head, his horns reflecting the sun before it hid behind a large white cloud. “I had my spellcasters look for her amongst the minds still living, but they could not feel her. Either she is dead or too far away.”

Eragon paused. “What about her unit? She sounded so proud of it.”

“As she should be. My men bicker and fight amongst themselves over who will lead her unit. But her men refuse to fight each other for leadership, and refuse a new leader as well. It is creating tension in my camp. Kulkarvek’s children – as her unit calls herself – were given three days for either her to appear or for them to choose someone else who will fight for them.”

“Will you attend the funeral tomorrow?”

Garzhvog shook his head. “No, but my second-in-command Uzghar will be there with two others. They want to honour your dead ones as well, but from afar. Your race fought well. We can admire that,” explained the Kull, “It is what I came to tell you. I know of some of your mind tricks and I did not want you to be surprised by their presence tomorrow.”

“Thank you for informing me.”

As Eragon watched the Kull leave, Orik leaned toward him. “I don’t trust him, them...Let someone guard your back before they stab you in it.”

_+BREAK+_

Eragon was standing next to Saphira’s front leg, Arya standing behind him. Nasuada was a few feet away. Elva was out of sight. The pain of the grieving was too great for her.

It troubled Eragon greatly seeing so many men dead, because of a battle started in his name. Most of them had been stripped of their armour and weapons. They would have no use for it. Those who were left in their armour had been crushed into it beyond the point of removal. The blacksmiths had too much other work to do.

Eragon didn’t really listen to the eulogist, telling the crowd their loved ones had died for a good cause and how they were now fine in a better place. He no longer believed that quite as much as he once had.

Yet, he still made a silent prayer for their souls. He closed his eyes and reached out with his mind, wishing the dead ones a safe journey in the afterlife, if there was any.

As his mind reached forward, he felt nothing from the fallen soldiers. As the elves believed, there was nothing in their bodies. No shining energy. Just blackness.

Suddenly, his eyes flew open with shock. A gasp escaped him. Arya looked at him, alarmed. A man approached the wood on which the bodies lay. “Stop the fire!” Eragon shouted. Everyone looked to him in surprise, some even scandalized that he dared to interrupt.

Eragon blushed under all the gazes. “What are you doing?” Nasuada asked nervously. This certainly wasn’t helping morale. But the Rider ignored her and ran forward, alongside the dead bodies.

With the help of Saphira, he followed a small flickering light. It gave off a signal much like as a flower would, but he could tell this was much more. He felt his heart thump louder, beating with the adrenaline flowing through his veins.

Despite the weakness of the mind, he could recognize it, its burning feeling and bitter spikes.

There, almost in the middle of the pyre, he found them. She still wore some parts of her armour on. A helmet was squeezed so tightly under her jaw that it could not be removed. Eragon turned and gestured to two men standing near him. “Come help me! This one is still alive.” Behind the rows of the Varden, Eragon noted three Urgals, watching him nervously.

When they managed to wrestle her carefully from the weight of the other bodies, Eragon murmered, “ _Losna_.” The steel of the helmet became pliant under his hands. What he saw under it made him gasp. Eragon didn’t understand what had happened, and how she still was alive.

He looked up to Nasuada. “It is the elf, she is alive, for now.” Nasuada nodded in understanding, allowing him to leave. Then, she regained the attention of the Varden, so the ritual could continue.

Eragon lifted Marzanna bridal style, leaving the helmet behind. He left quietly, trying not to draw attention. Saphira remained there. He wanted to break into a run when he was stopped by the three Urgals.

“Firesword! Thank you for saving one of us,” an Urgal - Eragon believed  he was Uzghar – said, “But we will handle this from here. You needn't trouble yourself with her any more. Our healers will look out for her.”

Eragon, still connected to Marzanna’s faint mind, felt immediate distress from her. “Do not worry. It is no trouble for me to take care of her. In the end, I believe I am more qualified in treating elves than your healers,” said Eragon. Without looking back, he ran away at his heightened speed. They certainly struck him as suspicious.

He couldn’t deposit her with the Varden healers. She would not be treated properly. At the advising of Saphira, he headed toward his own tent. _Keep her alive_ _. Arya will arrive shortly to help you,_ Saphira said to him.

Eragon lay her on his bed and started wrenching away the rest of her armour and clothing, looking for more injuries.

A plate of steel was squeezed around her ankle, which had shattered the bones inside of it. He would have to be extremely careful there. There would be lot of nerve damage to repair. There was a huge bruise forming on her thigh, seemingly from a heavy, hard impact. Her lower abdomen had been pierced by an arrow, which did not cut completely through. It seemed to have been stopped by her pelvic bone, complicating the situation. Five of her ribs on the right side were shattered. A dagger had probably struck under her clavicle, where a deep cut sat. Her left hand was lying at an odd angle, and she had some shallow cuts under her jaw from her helmet. And lastly, to Eragon’s horror, the points of her ears had been cut off.

Eragon started chanting the long spells he had learned in Ellesméra. He didn’t understand what he said. He just knew they were necessary. Arya arrived part of the way through and immediately started helping him.

They weren’t even halfway through when they needed to stop due to their own exhaustion. They ensured she wasn’t in danger of succumbing to her wounds before they stopped.

“How.. how could she survive that? Anyone else would have already bled to death,” Eragon said with a tired huff as he offered a piece of bread to Arya, who accepted it thankfully.

“She did what I did in Gil’ead. It is a self-induced comatose state. But she slowed down her metabolism more than I did. She may never wake. Her heartbeat is almost non-existent. It saved her from bleeding out, but it might be fatal for her in the end.” Arya paused for a moment, looking uncomfortable. “She cannot stay here. She is not safe here, and you are not safe here with her.”

“What? Why?” asked Eragon, outraged. He was confident he could take care of himself and her.

“Eragon, we both know these wounds weren’t inflicted in battle, army to army. Don’t tell me you believe that a King’s soldier took the time to take her helmet off, cut off parts of her ears, then put her helmet back on and clamp it to her head. Someone is after her. Someone with great strength, based on how deformed her armour was.”

“I am not abandoning her. If you would be so kind as to go to Frederick, he may have her sword. It was not on her. You will recognize it. It is elven work,” Eragon told her grumpily, turning his back to her.

He then continued to heal the minor injuries for which he had the energy. Eragon regretted that he hadn’t start collecting his energy inside the diamonds in his belt. He could have used it now. Once he had finished as much as he could, he looked at her undressed form and suddenly blushed, her nakedness not striking him before.

Eragon forcibly tore his eyes from her. Saphira, who had arrived from the funeral, watched him in slight amusement with her head through the flap of the tent. _What?_ Asked Eragon, irritated.

 _Nothing, Little One. You have done a great job, but you need to rest. We must be prepared at any moment for an attack. Murtagh overpowered us, and we cannot afford that again._  


	5. Bittersweet

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Eragon finishes treating his patient
> 
> Beta-reader: Dragonblooded

Eragon woke the next morning cursing the gods of all races for the roughness of the ground on his back. His bed was occupied, and he had spent most of his night looking after Marzanna, so he could be certain no little injury would bring her to death’s doorstep. 

With a heavy sigh, Eragon rubbed his eyes, feeling as if there was sand under their lids. He got up and carefully stepped over Saphira’s tail on his way out. He grabbed a bowl and headed toward a small nearby river. He splashed some water on his face, drank some, and collected it into the bowl.

On the way back the people he met called out to him. He put on a small smile and nodded their way each time they greeted him. As he reached the tent, Saphira opened one huge eye and gave him a curious look. After that, she yawned and breathed warm air at Eragon. His eyes fluttered. He patted Saphira on the nose.

As he headed inside his eyes fell to the form lying on his bed. He had covered her with a rather thin blanket, as throughout the last day he had noticed her temperature starting to rise. Now it was even more prominent. Her forehead was covered in a layer of sweat, reflecting the light he let inside the tent as he entered.

Eragon frowned. He knew that fever had been the end of many people. Gertruda once told him that it usually damaged the brain if the temperature got too high. He knelt by her bedside and took a small washcloth, dampening it in the water he just brought. He lay it over her forehead.

He didn’t know what had possessed him to care for her, especially since Arya and Nasuada didn't approve of it. He felt a sense of duty to take care of any elf he stumbled upon. There was also his curiosity.

Later in the afternoon their combined efforts managed to break the fever. He sighed in relief. He decided to check on and heal the rest of her injuries, starting with her ankle, which he had left untouched so far. It was such delicate work that he had to make sure he was strong enough for it.

Eragon took her ankle gently into his hands, making sure not to move it too much. Then, he started to sing in the ancient language, reconnecting the shattered bones and mending the severed nerves and veins. It took him an hour to finish, and again, he couldn’t help but wonder how this injury occurred.

Eragon was a bit drained, so he took some cheese and bread to fill his empty stomach. As he ate, he took her hand into his own and rubbed the centre of her palm with his thumb. He desperately hoped that she would wake up, that he hadn't healed her body for nothing, that her mind would return from her comatose state.

When Eragon’s fingers brushed over a ridge on her index finger, he frowned and turned her hand so he could see. There on the outer side of her finger was a long slice, running from knuckle to tip. It looked rather fresh, but the split skin of the wound was already gluing itself together.

When he had gathered enough energy to continue, Eragon decided to check her ribs once more. He folded the blanket over, but the wound was so inconveniently placed that he eventually had to remove it completely from the upper part of her body. His hand glided over her skin in search of every ridge the scars had left there. Despite her recent fever, her skin was incredibly cold, greedily absorbing the heat his hand provided.

Eragon could tell her ribs were stitched together, but they were still very fragile.  He caressed her skin, rubbing more heat into it. It took him a few seconds to realize that his fingertips were touching the lower part of her left breast.

The Rider blamed it on curiosity, even though deep down he knew that wasn’t purely it. He was about to pull his hand away when she breathed in and her skin pressed more tightly against his. He moved his hand a bit higher, telling himself he needed to check her other ribs, too.

Saphira’s voice woke him from his trance. _You know, you should pay more attention._  Eragon’s ears started to burn as he realized Saphira had probably watched him. He dimmed their connection partially. Pay attention to what?

Then he realized. He looked up, directly into unnaturally pale eyes, observing him curiously. He felt blood run towards his face, colouring it crimson. He opened his mouth a few times, trying to explain himself, but he couldn’t gather the words for a good enough sentence. “Eh, I was… just checking your injuries.”

 _Your words might be more believable if you removed your hand._ Saphira laughed. He quickly snatched his hand away. Immediately he straightened her blanket, staring at the ground.

A weak chuckle broke the tent’s awkward silence. Eragon gathered his courage and met her eyes again. She smiled mildly, but it was obvious she was exhausted. “I hope they are alright now,” she said.

“What?” asked Eragon, confused.

“My injuries. You were checking them, yes?” 

Eragon felt his cheeks burn again. He nodded. “Mostly. I was just getting to your ears. They will be a bit harder to correct.”

She looked lost in her own mind for a while. “Ah, yes, they are round, now, aren’t they?” Marzanna asked when her attention returned to him. He nodded again. “Seems like it is not destined for me to belong anywhere. I am not a real Urgal. Now my most elvish feature has been cut off. So what am I? An elf? A human?”

“I know it might sound strange, but I know what you mean. I am human, but I look like an elf, and yet according to dwarvish law I am a dwarf,” Eragon said, “You are a strange elf, nevertheless. I believe I can return your ears to you.”

Her voice broke the subsequent silence. It occurred to Eragon that her voice wasn’t typically elvish, a bit lower than most elven women's. “True, but we are two sides of the same coin. You are wanted by all races, while I am refused by all of them,” she whispered, “Please forgive me. I did not want to bother you with all my troubles. I believe you have enough of your own. I will just ask my spellcasters to check on my ears. It would be a waste to have the best Varden’s warrior become a healer.” She smiled at him and started to get up, unbothered by the way her body was again revealed to him.

With shame, and perhaps some caution, he looked away. “I don’t mind you staying. I have more skill in treating elves than your people. And you shouldn’t be walking about. You are still hurt. Just a few hours ago I didn't believe you would be waking up.”

“Does my healer advise that I rest?” She smiled at him teasingly and winked. Eragon glued his eyes to hers, not trusting himself.

“Yes, I do. Also, Arya brought your sword when you were…sleeping.”

She nodded thankfully and toward the entrance of the tent, where the sword lay. “May I bother you with one last thing?” She asked curiously, steadying herself between her feet.

Eragon raised his eyebrows and smiled at her. “Of course. Anything.”

“May I borrow one of your tunics? I don’t exactly have much clothing left.” Eragon blushed again. He had completely forgotten to get her clothes. He hadn't expected her to wake so soon.

He quickly searched through the stash of clothes Nasuada and the elves had provided and handed her his sapphire blue tunic. Out of politeness, he turned so she could get dressed, despite what he had already seen.

When he looked back, she was already dressed. Her long muscled legs weren’t covered at all, not even in shoes. The tunic reached just to the middle of her thighs, and her silver hair disappeared beneath the colour of it.

She collected her sword and nodded thankfully towards Eragon. “I owe you my life. If there is anything I can do for you, I will. We will see each other again, Firesword.”

“If I want to know what happened to you, will you tell me?”

“Yes, but I would ask you to reconsider your wish.” She gave him a sad smile, then looked to Saphira, who watched them through the opening of the tent. She nodded at her. “Flametongue.” She carefully stepped over her tail on her way out and disappeared from Eragon's sight.

 _I like that one. She is far better than Trianna,_ Saphira said as she started to lick her claws clean. Eragon looked to her and remembered how Trianna had tried to seduce him. He grumbled slightly at the implication.

 _I don’t want her. I am in love with Arya,_ He said in his defence. _And it would be improper, for both of us._

 _You keep telling yourself that, but have you thought of Arya once today?_ Eragon diverted his gaze. _Also, if you didn’t want others to know, you probably should have given her neutral-coloured clothes, considering she will have to cross the entire camp. She is dressed in colours typical only for you._

Eragon didn’t understand what was wrong with him that day, why he kept constantly blushing. _Why do you have to be always right?_

 _One of us has to be._ Eragon could feel her amusement through their bond.

_+BREAK+_

Eragon sat outside the cook's tent, feeling a bit nauseous. He had needed to restore his energy as quickly as possible, so he had drained the life force of dying animals. Saphira was enjoying her freshly killed meal, while he was shaken to the core by his connection to dying minds. It was dirty work, but it was necessary.

He didn’t feel her approach, so he was slightly surprised when he looked up and saw her sitting at the other side of the table. She smiled at him gently, showing off her straight white teeth. “Lady Malvolia, to what do I owe this pleasure?” He asked honestly.

She sighed softly. “It has been days since we last saw each other and I haven’t had the chance to speak with you yet.” She winked at him and leaned forward, purring into his ear. “At least, not alone.”

Eragon was stunned into silence. He noted Saphira paying close attention to their conversation, even though it looked as if she was completely consumed in enjoying her meal. When Eragon did not say anything, Malvolia continued. “I heard you saved someone from being burnt alive. You are very brave,” This time, it was Eragon who leaned forward, so he could hear her whispered words.

“Any other person would do the same,” Eragon said awkwardly. Malvolia then got up and sat next to him on the bench. She pressed her side to his and Eragon had to look away. “You are brave, too. You shot a dragon. If it wasn’t for his Rider, he would have been dead.”

“It was nothing.” Saphira entered their conversation for the first time, growling loudly. Malvolia twitched and would have fallen off the bench if Eragon’s arms hadn't held her in place. As if forgetting the presence of Saphira, she smiled at him charmingly. “And again, you are my hero.”

Eragon quickly withdrew his arms and got up, just as Saphira finished her meal. Malvolia made him slightly uncomfortable. “Well, I believe we have to leave now. It was a pleasure talking to you.”

“Oh, that is a shame. I wanted to spend more time with you. Will you be going to watch the fight in the afternoon?”

The Rider frowned at that. “What fight?” Malvolia looked immensely pleased that she knew more than him.

“Almost everyone is speaking about it. It certainly will be epic. Some Urgal has challenged an elf for leadership of an Urgal regiment. We will see each other there, right?”

The last question wasn’t even caught by Eragon’s ears, as he was already running toward the Urgal camp.

_+BREAK+_

 “Nar Gazhvog!” Eragon called the moment he spotted him. It wasn’t long before the supposed fight was to take place. Some Urgals shot him a strange look, but they stepped aside out of his way as he ran, only muttering “Firesword” and “Flametongue” as they passed.

Their chief turned to face him as he approached. “Ah, Firesword, and Flametongue! I am glad you have come. I wanted to thank you for saving my sister’s life,” he said gratefully. He didn’t seem concerned over any fight.

“Is it true what I heard? Marzanna will be fighting?”

The Kull hesitantly nodded. “Yes. Uzghar, you might have met him, challenged her to a fight when she returned.”

“And you will let him? I just healed her! She was almost dead few hours ago!” Eragon shouted angrily. “I want to see her.”

 _Careful, Eragon,_ Saphira warned him.

The Kull frowned. “Of course I let him. Marzanna has accepted our traditions, and with that comes the right of any Urgal to challenge her for her leadership. She has to be stronger than them at all times.” The Kull paused before adding, “They fight to the death, but my sister always allows them to live. They leave with their tails between their legs. She says it would be shame to lose courageous warriors.”

Eragon rubbed his face desperately. He didn’t know how to prevent this. And he particularly did not have a good feeling about Uzghar. “Where is she anyway?”

“I don’t know. She ran off into the woods after accepting the challenge. Uzghar mocks her, claiming she will not return.”

“And you don’t defend her?” asked Eragon, shocked.

Garzhvog sighed. “I wish I could. But if I did, no one would respect her.” Eragon nodded reluctantly and watched as a few Urgals drew a square in the open space. Members of the Varden gathered the courage to come close to the arena  to watch the fight. Soon, there was a large crowd, and Uzghar was already standing in the square, supported by some other Urgals who chanted his name. He was certainly a show-off. Some Urgals, as Eragon noticed, looked at him in distaste. It wasn’t hard to determine who belonged to Marzanna’s unit.

Eragon looked around but still did not see Marzanna, until he spotted a figure emerging slowly from the forest, jogging toward them. She looked rather ruffled, but slightly amused, unconcerned by the fight. The elf was dressed only in black pants and a strap of textile wrapped around her chest, covering her scars. She wore no armour or padding. Her ears were healed.

“Aren’t you worried about your sister, promenading herself around almost naked?” asked Eragon.

The Kull laughed. “Not at all. I don’t think there is a sane Urgal who would think her attractive.”

“What? Elves are called the Fair Folk because they are considered beautiful! And she is certainly attractive!”

Garzhvog laughed even louder. “Maybe to you. But we like our women, not bony. We prefer colour to their cheeks, eyes, and hair, while my sister is as pale as a ghost. And we would rather not be cut by our partner’s features. We like our shiny horns, and I see none on my sister’s head. She could only be considered attractive because of her achievements and singing, but that is not enough.”

It took Eragon a moment to process this idea. He thought Marzanna was beautiful, but maybe not in the typical way.

Her unit cheered loudly as she approached. They came to her with grease and covered her in it, just as the others did to Uzghar. They left their hands and feet clean. 

Both of the fighters entered the square.

“No weapons?” asked Eragon.

“No weapons,” confirmed Garzhvog.

They started walking in a circle, maintaining an even distance from one another. Uzghar spoke. “Today will be known as the day I rid my race of an elven invader. You will not live to see the sun set.” He spoke in human language, obviously wanting to be heard by all. Many Urgals cheered with him.

Then, he charged at her. For someone his size, he was quick. But Marzanna was quicker, and a smaller target and managed to spin away just before Uzghar’s arms wrapped around her torso and crushed her.

The Urgal growled angrily and charged at her again, this time with his horns. Marzanna lowered herself, almost squatting on the ground. As Uzghar neared her with his head bent, she jumped easily over the Urgal, avoiding his attack again. But Uzghar turned quickly and his arm collided with her side, sending her to the ground.

A too-loud thud was heard as her head hit a stone on the ground, dazing her. The Urgal did not allow her to stay that way for long. He stomped on her chest. A sickening cracking reached Eragon’s ears and he knew that the ribs he had just repaired had broken again.

Her eyes were shining with complete consciousness. The Urgal suspiciously watched her for a reaction. And to everyone’s surprise, she started laughing. It sounded slightly pained, but entirely insane.

“You stupid drajl!” the Urgal shouted, stomping at her again. This time his foot didn’t even touch her. Her arms shot up surprisingly fast and she wrapped her fingers around his calf. Another sickening crack pierced the air.

Uzghar shouted in pain and stumbled a few steps back. She got up just in time. Both of them now stood crookedly, relieving their injured bodies. The Urgal managed to trap her in a corner of the drawn square. She quickly realized this and tried to slip past him, but Uzghar caught her wrist, spinning her toward him as he tugged on her injured side.

A pained yelp escaped her. To Eragon, it looked like a twisted dance. He looked to Garzhvog, who appeared worried for the first time. Uzghar wrapped his fingers around her throat and squeezed hard enough to cut off her windpipe. He then lifted her up, so she was face to face with him.

She wrapped her hands around his as she lapped for the air she was cheated of. For the first time, Eragon saw a colour to her face: purple. Her knee suddenly shot into his hurt calf. Uzghar yelled, but did not let go.

Marzanna kicked sharply at his hurt calf in his distraction, pushing herself away from him. Uzghar, trying to not let go off her, reached forward, but his injured leg could not support its new weight, and he collapsed to the ground. His victim twisted away from his reach and placed herself on his back, pinning the Urgal to the ground by his horns.

She secured his arms with her knees. “You are so proud of your horns. You think that just because I lack them that I am weaker than you. Now here you are. Dead because of something you considered your strength, and my weakness.” With a strength and speed Eragon did not expect, she twisted his neck with the horns in her hands, until a disgusting crack was heard. The Urgal on the ground lay still.

The field went silent, until coins clicked as they were handed over. Many had made the wrong bet. Eragon looked at Garzhvog next to him. He looked surprised, but proud regardless.

Marzanna stood and limped out of the square. Some Urgals immediately started treating her with renewed respect and admiration. Eragon recognized a few of them as spellcasters. “Brother?” she called for all the people to hear. Garzhvog lifted his head. Marzanna pointed to two of the Urgals who had cheered for Uzghar. “I want these two sent to trial.”

“What for?” Nar Gazhvog asked calmly. Eragon noted a rising panic in the two Urgals.

Marzanna seemed to plan her reply carefully. “They did not want me to lead our fighters, but instead of challenging me in a fair fight, they decided to attack me from behind during battle. They did not even dare to face me. I call this a cowardice we cannot tolerate amongst us.”

Garzhvog’s expression hardened. He nodded at his men. “Very well. Lead them to the edge of camp. We will deal with them later.” With that, he turned and left.

Eragon looked at those two Urgals, struggling against their mates. He realized it was those foul creatures who had inflicted wounds he had seen on Marzanna. He stepped toward her as she watched him, but a hand on his wrist stopped him.

He looked back and saw Malvolia smiling at him. “I hoped to catch you here.” Eragon looked back to Marzanna, but she was no longer there. Malvolia interwove their hands and started pulling him along. “Urgals are such disgusting beasts. Their traditions are so violent, and they betray each other. Not that the elf would belong to them,” she bragged as she dragged him away.

_+BREAK+_

It took him an hour to get rid of Malvolia, who seemed adamant on following him everywhere. Then another hour to find Marzanna. He found her sitting on a piece of wood in the Varden training area just as the sky began to darken. Her sword lay next to her, freshly cleaned. In her hand was a piece of wood she was carving with a dagger.

Eragon sat next to her. Saphira gave him some privacy this time. He looked at the small wooden statue in her hands. It was a proud Kull. “What is it?” Eragon asked.

Marzanna did not look at him, merely pressed it into his hands. “This is Kulkarvek, the only king of Urgals. He helps remind me that no matter how unfair the Urgals treat me, they still gave me the chance for a life with parents, unlike others. You can keep it if you want to.”

Eragon accepted the statue and nodded. A strange feeling washed over him. “Why does this feel like a goodbye?”

“Maybe it is. The fight today and the ambush few days ago made me realize, now more than ever, that I really don’t know who I am. I think it is time I met my own race. I wanted to leave an hour ago.”

The Rider’s heart actually fluttered slightly, hoping she stayed because of him. Eragon didn’t understand his feelings. He had thought he would always and only feel that way toward Arya.

But then she continued. “But I have to wait for my unit. They have decided to come with me, and it might be a long time before we reach Gil’ead, considering we have to pass through Hadarak desert. Queen Islanzadí has agreed to help us.”

Eragon knew he couldn’t persuade her otherwise. “I understand.” He paused for a while. “Maybe we could have a last spar before you go. I haven’t had the chance to train properly lately, and with elf even more so.”

Marzanna nodded and rose. She handed him her sword so he could guard it. “So, I am not a stranger any more? You are willing to hand me your sword?” asked Eragon teasingly.

“Wearing a stranger’s clothes sounds worse than wearing a friend’s clothes,” she retorted, flashing a brilliant smile at Eragon, who blushed at the memory.

They both prepared themselves. Eragon’s excitement got the best of him, and he attacked first, his sword swinging through empty air as she twisted her way out of his reach. The Rider immediately switched positions so he could protect his back. Eragon attacked her again, but she tilted her sword so he hit the flat of the blade. They kept pushing at each other, trying to overpower one another, but their strength was equal.

They were in a stalemate, both waiting for the other’s stamina to falter. Their faces became close and Eragon looked to her eyes. They reminded him of melted silver, with a cold blue tome. Her eyes fell for a fraction of second to his lips before a spark of mischief appeared in her eyes.

Before Eragon could react, she leaned forward and kissed him. Her lips felt cold against his, but soft. He wouldn’t ever admit it, but he had imagined her lips would be rougher. He got a funny feeling in his stomach, as if a swarm of butterflies had erupted there. The kiss was sweet, even innocent, but it made his knees go weak.

She snatched the opportunity and pushed him forcefully away, disconnecting their lips. Eragon stumbled back and fell on his behind with the tip of her grey sword pressed to his neck. A winning smile decorated her face. “Congratulations,” he breathed out, still red in the face.

They fought a few more times and he lost them all. His pride took a beating. After his victory over Vanir, he thought himself better than such, losing at the closest opportunity.

Later, he told Saphira his worries. How could he defeat Galbatorix if a single elf had beaten him?

 _You win the same way she does. She outsmarted you every single time. Her technique is great, but so is yours, and she has had more years to train than you,_ Saphira said, trying to improve Eragon’s mood.

The next morning Eragon watched as a rather large group of Urgals, led by a small figure, headed northeast. Despite the sun shining brightly, they walked in the comfortable shadow of a huge white cloud. Eragon thought of his first kiss. The best way to describe it would be “bittersweet”.


	6. Interludium - The Bloody Queen

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Interludium to the second queen.
> 
> Beta reader: Dragonblooded

How does one determine life’s value? What would be its unit, could we measure it? No one, not even a Queen, could know that the life of one girl would make thousands of others worthless.

When a little baby girl was born to Líadan, the Grey Queen, many elves cheered for her. She was a lovely baby, despite her crimson hair and blood-red eyes. Her skin was incredibly pale, but there was little sun in the North to bother her.

She was named L’anatrill. A beautiful name for a beautiful girl, they all said. But as she grew, she seemed to avoid her own people. No one minded it. A shy girl, they callled her. Her favourite pastime was to watch her mother rule from a small chair next to the black throne, to match the black crown. Everyone assumed she admired her mother and was learning from her.

But it wasn’t her mother she watched.

She was a little bit older, when she asked her mother for the first time about her grandparents. Líadan suddenly looked quite sad. She combed her fingers through her daughter’s hair. “It is a sad story. Are you sure you want to hear it?”

“Yes,” she told her mother, “I love sad stories.” Líadan sighed heavily and lapsed into thought before she began.

“My father was the youngest of three southern elvish princes. They came from Alalea. The crown prince stayed there, and his two younger brothers came to Alagaësia to explore and settle here.

When my mother came to them, she was nearly dead. Their best healers cared for her, amongst them my father. Despite how closed she was, she told them her story. She was of a race called the Grey Folk, who died when they connected words to magic and thus created our beautiful language. Your grandmother was the last living member of the Grey Folk.

My father told me she missed her people dearly, even though she never told him so. She must have gone mad with loneliness and homesickness. Not long after I was born, she tried to kill me. My father saved my life, but injured my mother.  She succumbed to her wounds.

She sometimes talked to the North as though she was scared of it. When we first came here, there were these dark deformed creatures that attacked us until we established this kingdom. We suffered terrible losses when fighting them.”

Here, the Grey Queen fell silent. L’anatrill nodded and allowed her mother to braid her hair.

The princess often watched her mother stand in front of an elf called Qybern, who used special tools she didn’t know how to name to sculpt her mother into a grey stone, down to the smallest detail. Her mother posed with her sword’s pommel pressed into her connected palms and the tip aimed toward the ground. Her infamous black crown decorated her head.

The crown attracted L’anatrill as moths are attracted to light. She often stared at it, and soon came to know every single detail just as well as Qybern, who carved its perfect image into the stone. L’anatrill lusted after the crown. To its bearer it brought power over other people. How badly the princess wanted to rule.

L’anatrill considered killing her mother few times, watching from behind a corner with a shady smile on her face. _No, it is too soon._ With lips pressed tightly together, she would back away.

She never stopped wondering why her grandmother wanted get rid of her mother. She thought of the Grey Folk, how they died, and how her mother did their legacy no justice.

The princess was nine when she was brought to armoury and told to choose a weapon. L’anatrill did not argue. Everyone needed to be able to fight. She walked around, carefully looking for the right weapon, until she stumbled upon a double-ended spear.

“Good choice, L’anatrill Dröttningu,” a young elf called Laetri told her, “Now we begin your training” He smiled reassuringly as he taught her: how to properly hold it, swing it, stab with it. Despite her small size, she soon got a grasp on the weapon's handling and eventually mastered it, with the help of her natural athleticism.

L’anatrill had just turned fourteen when her mother visited her bedroom with a tired look. The Queen carried a long double-ended spear with blades just as red as the princess’ eyes. “My beloved, I brought you a gift. I received my own proper weapon when I left for the North. My father gave it to me and it served me well. I always remember him, when I carry it.

I hoped you would feel the same way, if you received a weapon from me. It is called Blödhdauert – the spear of blood.”

The princess nodded gratefully and looked at the beautifully forged blades. It was a perfect weapon with a perfect balance. “Mother? The Grey Folk could spellcast, right?” When the Queen nodded, the princess continued. “Why is it, then, that you can’t use magic?”

“We certainly have magic in our blood, but I wouldn’t know how to reach it. I never needed it,” the Queen said with a smile.

_She is a shame to the Grey Folk! Do it now! You have a chance!_

“Maybe, mother, you should have learned some healing spells.” L’anatrill didn't give her mother time to react before she thrust one of the red blades into her unprotected chest. With a twisted smile, she looked up at the Grey Queen’s shocked face, before letting her mother drop to the ground. The red blade seemed to enjoy its first kill, almost lapping at the spilled blood.

L’anatrill suddenly felt as if her mind had grown into a new dimension. Her own blood started to thrum with magic she didn’t know she possessed. The princess walked towards the window and smashed through it with her new weapon, her mind immediately flooding that of a passing boy. When she had finished, her face was split by a vicious smile. She then threw the weapon over her mother’s body and went to bed.

The next morning, the castle’s inhabitants were woken by a loud scream. They immediately rushed to the princess’ room. There, a young elf stood over the corpse of their Queen with a red spear in his hand. The princess pointed her mother’s sword at him with trembling hands.

Later that day, they hanged the youth, despite his claims that he didn’t do it. He had no alibi. The other elves claimed they saw him leave and head toward the castle. The princess told she was there when the elf attacked, snatching the red spear from the Queen and killing her with it.

The elves asked her why she decided to keep the weapon which killed her mother. She told them, “I am not going to throw away this weapon. My mother’s life was lost to it. It would dishonour her memory to destroy it. I shall conquer anyone who stands in our way with it.”

The next day, she was crowned, and became L’anatrill the Red. After the fuss of the coronation, she finally sat alone in her throne room with the crown resting in her lap. She looked at it with admiration. One of the white diamonds had been coloured with a grey substance. L’anatrill tried to wipe it off, even clean it with magic, but nothing would cleanse it of the Grey.

Soon enough, she started discovering magic properly. With pieced-together phrases of the ancient language, she tried to summon the spirits of the fallen race – the Grey Folk. And one day, it seemed to work. Spirits appeared, lured in by the beautiful magic surrounding the new Queen.

_Come to me. We can all share this energy of mine. Come, come!_

And her body was lost in the crowd of spirits, who fought each other for a place there. L’anatrill the elf died, but L’anatrill the Shade was born. Her mind thrummed with thousands of voices and so much knowledge.

Spells she couldn’t master before came easily. Having so many perspectives on one thing gave her a new point of view. Suddenly all her decisions seemed clear. She headed with a few of her soldiers towards Dargnol, a dwarven city in the upper part of the Spine, full of mines bearing gemstones and ores.

When the dwarves saw the few elves trying to conquer them, they laughed. They easily outnumbered them, and they had proper weapons and strong walls. Their smiles stayed frozen on their dead bodies when thousands of spirits appeared seemingly out of nowhere, crashing through every dwarf, consuming their minds in the process.

Not a single elf died during the battle. Only one dwarf was taken hostage. Dwarvish blood poured over their walls and into their beloved mines.

As soon as the other dwarves heard of the fall of their city, their fiery blood sent them to Norvedrgarde to lay siege. When they looked up, they saw the Red Queen standing on top of the gate. Arrows flew her way, but all were stopped by an invisible shield. In front of her stood the one captured dwarf.

The queen chanted in the ancient language. As she finished, she sliced the dwarf’s throat and let him fall off the gate. As soon as his blood touched the ground, red lines appeared around him in the shape of a triangle. The entire dwarven army stood in the middle of it.

At first, no one understood the meaning of it, until their noses started to bleed and blood poured out of their eyes and ears. Without the loss of a single elven life, all the dwarves there that day died.

The closest city to Norvedrgarde and the newly conquered Dargnol, renamed  Vestrgarde, was an elven city called Éwayëna. With no Ellesméra yet, it was one of the most powerful elven cities, known for its riches in grain and food. The barrenness of northern lands made Éwayëna just what the North needed.

No matter their defences, no matter their preparations to face the infamous Bloody Queen, the city was lost. Éwayëna was renamed Sudriergarde, its inhabitants enslaved by the Bloody Queen and its riches lost to the North. The Lord of Sudriergarde was killed, and on his grave the Bloody Queen sang out a beautiful red lilly.

Her reign lasted for ages. As a Shade, she gained immortality. Elves and dwarves alike tried to get rid of her. Anyone who opposed her, she personally tortured.  Eventually, they all would plead for death. They were publicly executed, as warnings to others.

She had one daughter with her former spear-master Laetri. She was called Nóttvísi. She was just as pale as her mother, but otherwise looked as a normal elf. Not long after her birth Laetri disappeared. The Bloody Queen never mourned him.

Over time, the elves discovered what being a Shade meant, and how to kill them. Norvedrgarde, the capital city of the Winter Kingdom, was strongly protected against intruders from the outside, but in the Queen’s overconfidence, their defences were easily broken from the inside.

And that is how sixteen years after his disappearance Laetri found himself again in his former home. The city was under siege from the elves and dwarves united. They together could not get inside, but one elf could. Laetri knew his way around the castle well. In the depths of the night he silently crawled to his Queen and plunged his sword inside her heart, releasing all the spirits inside her.

That night both armies outside of the city celebrated the fall of the Bloody Queen. The elf Laetri became known as Shadeslayer, but he never made it out of the castle. A similar fate waited for the others as well.

That is how the reign of the first Shade in history ended. But the end of one is always the beginning of the next.

If we were to determine the worth of L’anatrill’s life, we wound find ourselves counting it in spilled ounces of blood. Had her life ended earlier, many lives would have been spared. But who could have known then, how much blood that little red-haired girl would spill.


	7. Prophecy

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Beta-reader: Dragonblooded

 

Months flew by. Orik became King, and Eragon was staying in Ellesméra for a few days. He was, for once, unhurried. The Varden were still rather far away from Feinster, giving him some much-needed spare time.

Ellesméra was mostly deserted as the elves neared Gil’ead, and all capable warriors were needed. Eragon was sitting in Rhunön’s house, watching her as she worked on the parts of his sword, where her vow did not forbid it.

He decided to take a little stroll around the room, studying the armours, plates, helmets, swords, and all kinds of weapons. Eragon admired how perfectly they were made. They were all truly masterpieces, yet Rhunön was not satisfied with them, always lamenting how much better she could have made them.

“I am glad you are not wearing Zar’roc anymore. It wasn’t made for you. It was a great weapon, but terrifying. When you brought it here, I could feel all the misery it had wreaked. Disgusting. Morzan’s fighting style was always so barbaric. That is why he wanted a wide blade, you know,” Rhunön complained to Eragon as she worked on his sword's pommel, wrapping brightsteel around a sapphire.

“You can feel that from steel?” asked Eragon, surprised. He looked to Rhunön.

She nodded and sighed, “Yes. The steel sings to me. It tells me its story, if I ask.”

“How?”

“You would not understand. In my long life - and let me tell you, it is really quite long compared to your short little lives - I have met only one person who understood me,” she said, as if regretful.

Eragon paused. He sensed the sensitivity of the topic, and did not want to offend Rhunön by prying too much.

“Have you ever heard of the Winter Kingdom?” she asked suddenly.  When Eragon shook his head, she nodded. “Well, it is rather guarded knowledge. The dragons used many spells to erase it from the minds of most people.”

“Why?” asked Eragon, questions itching on his tongue.

Rhunön laughed croakily. “Dragons loathe to reveal their weaknesses, including their enemies. Have you ever wondered how we managed to keep our race alive during Du Fyrn Skullblaka? At that time, we were not very magical people. We fell like flies against the onslaught of dragons. It took so many of us to defeat one dragon. Until the Winter Kingdom joined the war.” Eragon gave her a questioning look. “Have you never wondered what is north of Du Weldenvarden? There was once another elven kingdom there, but is long abandoned.

During the war, anyway, it became quickly obvious we were losing. The dragons in their fury decided to attack all elven cities, including the capital of the Winter Kingdom – Norvedrgarde. There, for the first time, the dragons failed, terribly so. Their losses struck deep for long after the battle.

The kingdom had a history of terrifyingly powerful rulers. Before the war, the former ruler had died in childbirth. She had twins, M’anie and Tuoni. And just as their ancestors had, they came into power soon after.

The Winter Kingdom attacked all northern cities, including those of your own people in Palancar Valley. Every time, they would kill half of their hostages and release the other half, always. No one was sure why.

They would always go to the closest city afterwards. Their armies were richened by those they had killed before, who they brought back as soulless marching bodies. A city could have impenetrable defences, yet still fall. And every time, from the inside. Some would go mad and open the gates. The same people, who fell in to last of the cities.

So when the dragons decided to attack Norvedrgarde, M’anie and Tuoni, the Mad Queen and the Dead Queen, did the same.

M’anie could slip through any mind’s barrier without being noticed. She could do this to dragons as well, so she was able to dissolve their army from within. The sane dragons killed their mates in an effort to protect themselves, but as soon as their attention returned to Norvedrgarde, they would be attacked from behind by more of their spellbound friends.” Rhunön went silent for a while. The wrinkles in her face deepened. Eragon shivered. He hoped it was just a story. The old elf had to be making fun of him.

“That is why the dragons sought us for peace. They realized we are two different kingdoms. They knew we too needed to stop them. But just as the Winter Kingdom is known for their rulers, it is known for the madness everyone in the line possesses. Matricides and mariticides were no exceptions, so sororicide and suicide were no surprise. The Dead Queen ended the Mad Queen and couldn’t live with it, so she killed herself.

The Mad Queen left behind a daughter called Oriona. She soon became the Iron Queen. She decided to make peace with our kingdom.” Rhunön finished as if lost in a memory, eyes glossy and grey.

Eragon was completely captured in her telling, absorbing the new knowledge, craving more. He fidgeted in place, wanting answers. “What happened to the Winter Kingdom? How do you know of it, if it was deleted from most minds? Why are you telling me this?”

“So many questions, Shadeslayer. We should be focusing on your sword. But if you want to know that badly, I can answer some questions. Ask the rest of your Ebrithil.

The Iron Queen was able to manipulate metal. It obeyed her. She only had to wish for something and all the metal around her was ready to do it. She told me it was calling out to her, and craved her attention.

We awaited her with dread, but when she arrived, she was a completely sane elf. The only difference was the crown on her head. The peace was made, and she was introduced to dragons. At first, they weren’t fond of her, until our Queen showed her a dragon egg charmed for a Rider, and it actually hatched for her.

When I was asked to make a sword for her, she personally came to me and asked me if she could work with me. I could hardly refuse. She was such an interesting and loving being. It was difficult for me to believe who her ancestors were.

One day I asked her to show me her crown. When I touched it, it was laced with such terror that I almost dropped it. It was a beautifully crafted crown. Black, with thirteen gemstones inside it, and complicated runes inscribed on its surface. But I felt souls trapped in there.

Some elves managed to translate its words. It was a prophecy, a terrible one. But it is not my place to tell you. Now, shall we finish your sword?” Rhunön turned away. Eragon pretended he did not see the fear inside her eyes.

“Thank you for telling me, Rhunön-elda. May I ask...” Eragon felt a need to change the subject. ”What is the best thing you have ever created?”

The passionate spark returned to her eyes. “Íssbrandr – the Snow Blade. It was my first Rider's sword. It belonged to Eragon I. It took me weeks to create, despite all the spells I used. I often wonder where it might have disappeared to. Whether it is in Galbatorix’ collection or not. His dragon, whose name we cannot say in the ancient language, was as white as snow. It took me ages to get the right colour.” Rhunön snickered, picked up a hammer, and continued in her work.

This time, Eragon joined her.

_+BREAK+_

The next day, Eragon flew with Saphira to the Crags of Tel’naeir. Oromis was sitting outside drawing a pine cone with precision and care. Once Eragon dismounted, Saphira immediately curled herself next to Glaedr, who rested his head on a boulder next to Oromis’ cottage, watching him with one huge eye.

Eragon patiently sat next to Oromis, trying to enjoy the calmness around him. Yet, he still felt restless. Ever since Rhunön told him that story, he had had so many questions which refused to give him peace.

When Oromis put away the piece of charcoal he had been drawing with, he looked at Eragon, finally breaking the silence. “I feel obliged to inform you that Nasuada reported to us last night after you were gone.”

“Were they attacked?” Eragon immediately became vigilant.

Oromis shook his head. “Not exactly. The half-elf you mentioned before, Lady Malvolia, has apparently disappeared from her well-guarded tent. All her guards on duty were found dead, and she and her sword are missing.”

“What? How is that possible? She is supposedly a strong spellcaster. She couldn’t have been kidnapped.”

Oromis sighed heavily, it seemed to Eragon as if the entire weight of the world rested on his Ebrithil’s shoulders. “Eragon, for as long as I have lived, I have never heard of a human-elf hybrid, yet here she is. We don’t know the extent of her powers.

Think about it. Why would she need to leave? There is no reason for it. Therefore, we can assume she has been kidnapped. Is there anyone who is in desperate need to get her?”

“Murtagh,” exhaled Eragon. He closed his eyes for a moment. The Varden’s only weapon against dragons was now in the hands of his enemy. The only thing which calmed him down was the hope that they did not intend to kill them with it.

Oromis nodded. He got up from his chair and disappeared inside his little house, returning in a few minutes with a tray filled with cheese, nut soup, and various fruit. He laid it on the table in front of Eragon and sat next to him once more.

“May I take a look on your sword?” Eragon put the sheathed sword into Oromis’ arms. “I see Rhunön has outdone herself yet again. Ask away. I can feel you have questions.” The elf smiled at him warmly.

He first asked why his sword caught fire every time he said its name. When Oromis explained, Eragon continued on to more troubling thoughts. “Rhunön told me a strange story yesterday. I don’t know if I should believe it. It was about a pair of twins, the Mad Queen and the Dead Queen.”

Oromis’ lips tightened into one straight line. Even Glaedr was suddenly fully present. There was a few minutes of long silence before the elf spoke. “I probably shouldn’t be surprised she knows about it. When it was agreed the knowledge of that kingdom should be erased, few people were allowed to keep it.

I wouldn’t be surprised if Orik knew it now, as a King. Our Queen and her advisors know. All Riders knew it, and those who were close to the unfortunate dynasty. Rhunön was closer to one of the queens than she lets on.”

“Yes, she told me some bits about the Iron Queen and her crown, and a prophecy.”

Oromis nodded in acknowledgement. “And I suppose I can’t persuade you to leave it be.” Eragon shook his head. He picked a piece of cheese and ate it, not even tasting it. “Very well. The prophecy has passed anyway. I will try to translate it from its original language. The runes were a bit complicated.” As an afterthought, Oromis added, “If we can help it, you won’t avoid studying runes as well.”

_In the land of no life, three rulers of the world lie._

_The seal of their tomb is broken_

_It takes only the thirteenth to open._

_Thus begins the long winter night, when darkness and cold in one unite._

_As the fair folks face the dragon thief_

_Everything the Thirteen know will leave._

_As armies disappear in the shadow of Elders’ wings,_

_Another monarch pain and sorrow to insanity brings,_

_Thus begins the dark reign of Thirteen_

_From the land of no kings._

Eragon felt like he had when he blessed Elva in Farther Dûr. There was power behind those words. “What does it mean?”

“Per usual, you demand knowledge you shouldn’t even know. But I suppose you come by it honestly. Your father would be proud.” Oromis paused again for a few minutes, peacefully finishing his soup. “When the prophecy was revealed, we all felt the power in those words. It was a true prophecy, forged inside a crown.

When this prophecy was discovered, there were only four kingdoms. We had a king before, just as the dwarves and humans did in their patriarchies. That left only one kingdom with no kings, whose thirteenth monarch was to come. The daughter of the Iron Queen, Lilith, was thirteenth in line for the crown.”

Eragon couldn’t hold his tongue behind his teeth any more. “And what happened to the kingdom? Where is it now?”

Oromis frowned at him, but did not scold him for the interruption. “I will get to that. I am trying to summarise years and years of history for you. It is not a short story.

When the Iron Queen became a Rider, she joined our ranks, and eventually became an ebrithil to younger Riders. When she left the capital Norvedrgarde, elves eventually deserted it, too. Years later, she had a child, which everyone feared, with one of our Riders.

The Iron Queen had the longest reign, outlasting even the reign of the second queen, the Bloody Queen – the first Shade in Alagaësia.

I was tasked with watching over Lilith, in case her familial madness appeared. She was a sweet girl, always trying to be helpful, yet everyone looked at her through fingers, not seeing beyond the label 'the Thirteenth'. Eventually, she decided to never leave Tel’naeir.

When one of Galbatorix’ ebrithils was found dead, the Iron Queen took her husband and left for Norvedrgarde. He had once taught Galbatorix, too. No one knows what happened that fateful day, but they and their dragons were found dead by the remaining elves in Norverdgarde. They then contacted us.

When Lilith found out what happened, she clutched her head, fell to her knees, and screamed, until her voice chords gave out. I managed to calm her down, but she wasn’t herself anymore. She sometimes knew things she shouldn't have, that she wasn't supposed to.

I talked to her. I tried to help her. The only thing I discovered was that in all their lives, her and her ancestors', some event had triggered a special ability they hadn't had before. Lilith became able to talk to ghosts, but she started to lose herself in them.

I became rather busy with Galbatorix after that. She disappeared from my sight for a few months. The last time I saw her was when Glaedr, Brom, and I were fighting some of the Forsworn in the Spine. She appeared out of nowhere, with that ugly crown sitting on her head.

The Forsworn had overpowered us both. They were about to kill us. But then I felt as if Death herself had touched me, and suddenly from behind the trees ghosts started to appear. I saw fallen friends among them.

I looked at Lilith and her eyes were shining brightly, calling the ghosts to herself. They fell upon the Forsworn and started to tear them to pieces. I saw Lilith disappear, her ability taking the highest price of her.

When everything was over, there was almost nothing left of the Forsworn. Only one survived and ran away with the only thing left behind by the Ghost Queen. My Lilith.” Oromis shook his head as if trying to rid himself of a memory. “Her crown.”

Eragon didn’t know how to react. As it was a sensitive topic for Rhunön, so it was for Oromis. “But what about the prophecy?”

“It spoke of the battle of Ilirea, which we lost. The elves were to face Galbatorix. The elder dragons were to fly in the sky. But it never happened, and a few months later, she died anyway. As I said, an expired prophecy.” Oromis looked even older than before. “Eragon? Please forget about the prophecy, and the lost kingdom. You cannot afford any distractions.

It does not do to dwell on the past. Be happy you weren’t born in the times when the Winter Kingdom existed. Their royal line brought more terror to this land than any other.”

The blue Rider felt as if he had offended the elf. “Please forgive me, Ebrithil. For asking.”

Oromis shook his head. “The knowledge shall never affect them. But this is better than ignorance.”

“Were they really so bad?”

“Except for the first – the Grey Queen – and the last two – the Iron Queen and the Ghost Queen. Wait a minute.” Oromis disappeared inside again.

When he came out, he was holding a book. He pressed it into Eragon’s arms. “We will use this as we continue your training. We can hardly know now what you might find useful later. But I know you will not stop until you know what you want.” Oromis paused, allowing Eragon to look at the book. “This is _A History of Northern Lands._ Some pages are dedicated solely to the Winter Kingdom. If you have free time, study them.”

Eragon thanked him and put the book away. He needed to pay attention to Oromis. Glaedr soon took off with Saphira to teach her a thing or two, before they needed to leave for Vardens again.

*************

Later that day Eragon scried Nasuada. With dread in his stomach, he watched as she argued with King Orrin. When he altered the spell so he could understand them, he realized the king was blaming her for the loss of Malvolia.

With a sigh, he tried to scry Malvolia, but saw nothing but blackness. Eragon remembered how he had tried to scry Murtagh after he had been kidnapped by the twins. Malvolia was either dead or protected by a spell. Eragon ended the spell, feeling everything he had worked toward starting to crumble between his fingers.

The Varden wouldn’t be able to survive without the help of Surda, and it looked to him as if their alliance was close to breaking. Malvolia was either lost, or in the hands of his enemy.

Lastly, he scried Marzanna. The water did not colour itself immediately. Eragon’s heart stopped, scared, wondering if she too had been kidnapped...or killed. But then Marzanna appeared in the water. To Eragon’s surprise, her surroundings weren't white. He recognized Gil’ead in the background. She was looking up to the sky and smiling.

Calmness filled Eragon. He ended the spell. When he looked up, Saphira was watching him. _What?_

 _You are funny._ Not bothering to explain herself, she closed her eyes and fell asleep.

Eragon sighed and opened the book. A thin slate tablet fell from it onto his chest.

A fairth. He picked it up and looked at it.

Lilith.

 


	8. Nothing burns like the cold

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Beta-reader: Dragonblooded

_Eragon?_ Saphira’s soft voice spoke inside his mind. He looked to her and saw a big blue eye watching him. _I know you have been obsessed with the Winter Kingdom lately, but you need sleep. We will need all the help we can get when we fight Galbatorix._

The Rider clutched the book tightly in his fingers. The night was already underway, and he had been reading since sunset. _I am not obsessed! I just wasn’t able to enjoy proper reading on the march to Uru’baen._ Eragon grumbled. His eyes were sore, but he couldn’t put the book aside.

_Besides, it is a really interesting book. Did you know that the Hadarac Desert has not always existed? Du Weldenvarden used to be much bigger than it is now. It covered the Hadarac Desert and even grew North of Alagaësia._

Saphira gave him a questioning look. She shook her head. _I thought you were reading about the Winter Kingdom._

Eragon’s eyes returned to the book in his hands. He very carefully turned to the next page. _I am. Remember the twin queens? Their mother was basically a child when she was crowned a Queen. That was a peaceful time for all people. Everyone believed she had promise. She was strict, but not cruel; wise, but not stubborn._

_Then the Broddring Kingdom spotted a weakness in the Winter kingdom and attacked. The Queen – Vellamo was her name – was so young, she had no power. They attacked from the north, where the kingdom was unprotected. The battle triggered Vellamo’s power. They say seeing her people die was too much for her._

_She gained a connection to the weather. The human army was hit with the strongest storm they had ever faced. Some were struck by lightning, others froze to death. She became known as the Storm Queen._

_As was typical of her line, she slowly started to descend into madness, and she sought revenge on the humans. Her power had a limited range, and because she never wanted to leave her kingdom, she needed to grow stronger. She did so by draining energy from the southern side of Du Weldenvarden, until it died out and created an unbearable change to the forest in the middle of the kingdom, which people used for sustenance. She dried the forest down and thus created the place known as the Hadarac Desert. This caused a massive wave of famine._

_Du Weldenvarden as we know it was spared only because her advisors begged her to. She died rather young, giving birth to the Mad and the Dead Queens._ Eragon paused, obviously consumed by it all. He knew he should leave history to be history, as Oromis told him, but he couldn’t help himself.

_This book has everything! It says M’anie was born first and saw her mother's death. Everyone assumes that triggered her powers, because she had them ever since. The healers had to pull Tuoni from her mother’s body and resuscitate her. That might have been what caused her powers._

_There is an exact description of M’anie’s coronation, too. With all this information, Saphira, maybe the kingdom could still be brought back._

_There is a mention that M’anie’s child – the Iron Queen – ruled, but the Dead Queen had a child, too. She was sent away just before the Dead Queen killed her sister and later herself. No one knows where their line ends._

Saphira yawned. _How boring._ She looked up. _Someone has come to pay you a visit._ Eragon frowned and closed his book.

There in the doorway stood Maud in her cat-like form, licking her paw. Saphira obviously wasn’t the only one he had bored with his story. Eragon hadn’t realized his dragon’s mind was opened to the one of the werecat.

When Maud felt his eyes upon herself, she looked up to him. With a few long jumps she appeared next to him, putting her face way millimetres from his. Eragon kept silent, patiently waiting.

 _You are interested in the Winter Kingdom?_ she said. _That which you need to know, you cannot find in the book. It is not there._ With that, she turned and ran out of his tree-house. Eragon blinked, confused. He looked to Saphira, hoping she would have an answer.

She just shook her head. _If I ever know, I will tell you._ Long after she had fallen asleep, Eragon was still awake and reading.

_+BREAK+_

Few weeks passed by. Two armies stood opposed on an empty plain, empty of all other life. A white cloud hovered a bit away from the battlefield. Above both armies circled three dragons. One was as big as a mountain, majestic and powerful, with scales like melted gold. The second one was smaller, but much more elegant, with scales of the colour of the deepest oceans and the brightest sapphires. The last dragon flew a bit further from the other two, clearly not belonging with them. He looked terrifying with his bloody scales.

The battle for Gil’ead was underway.

Eragon looked sceptically at Murtagh. He had never wanted to fight his half-brother. He always hoped he could persuade him to join their forces, to help him free himself from King’s influence. But if it was inevitable, he would kill him.

The Varden was still rather far away from Feinster, so Eragon joined Oromis in his thoughts. Galbatorix wouldn’t send Murtagh to the Varden if there were two dragon riders on the other side of Alagaësia.

Beneath him, the armies were spilling blood. He saw the Urgals move amongst the elves. For the first time, he saw Marzanna’s unit fight. Eragon remembered how roughly the Urgals had fought at the battle at Farthen Dûr, always relying on their strength. This unit, though, fought with more grace than he expected from the Urgal race.

 _Are you prepared, my dear?_ he asked Saphira , petting her scales.

She growled with satisfaction, her mind already filled with bloodlust. _I am, little one. We will crush that red midget._

The dragons circled each other closer and closer, until they were within earshot. It was obvious that the dragons wanted to attack, but the Riders were reluctant. Oromis knew his weakness, Eragon knew this his half-brother and friend, and Murtagh wasn’t allowed to kill Eragon, who was now in the company of another Rider.

Eragon saw the betrayal on Murtagh’s face from Oromis and Glaedr. “Where have you been? You could have saved us!” Murtagh shouted angrily at them. Then his face twisted into a strange smirk. “But I suppose it doesn’t matter anymore.”

“Murtagh, I made this offer before back south. We can help you change your real name,” Eragon reasoned. “You don’t have to follow him.”

The Red Rider laughed bitterly. “You make it seem as if we have a choice. It was always you who had the chance to choose. My choices were forced on me. Why should it be different now? Besides, who would accept us? I am about to kill so many elves. I killed Hrothgar and the Varden’s only dragon fighter. I murdered your half-elfling. They would imprison us, kill us. And I am not done with life just yet.”

Eragon felt his heart skip a beat. He looked at Oromis and noticed his master wasn’t completely present, using his mind to help fight the Imperial Army. Eragon hoped Murtagh wouldn’t notice. “What? You killed Malvolia?”

“I did. And you should thank me. She was a stupid imposter. Her abduction was wasted effort.” His half-brother obviously enjoyed the power his knowledge gave him. Eragon did not comment on how much Murtagh had changed since Farthen Dûr.

“What are you talking about?”

“I am not even sure if I should call her half-elfling.” Murtagh continued as if he hadn’t heard Eragon, basking in the moment. “Her blood had been so powerful, until it was diluted by human blood. Have you heard of the Winter Kingdom? You haven’t.”

“I have. You talk as if you weren’t a human anymore.” Eragon frowned. _Everything now seems to revolve around that Kingdom,_ he told Saphira.

Murtagh smirked at him. “I suppose the prospect of immortality makes it hard to stay human. Not that you know anything of humanity any more. If you know so much about the Winter Kingdom, then, did you know the Dead Queen had a child? Her line disappeared some time ago, they say. Your beloved Malvolia was from that line.

The King thought she managed to penetrate my shields because of that line’s strange powers. But she had so little of them left. She was a weak spellcaster. So we thought it surely was the sword. Then again, there was nothing extraordinary about it. Just a plain sword of expensive metals. Not even magical. Thorn said it was a white Rider’s sword.” At that, Thorn growled dangerously and snapped his jaws at Saphira, who had gotten too close to him.

“You know,” Murtagh said. “There are only two white Riders’ swords. Unless your blacksmith has made new ones, which I doubt, because I don’t see any white dragons here, do you? One – Vrael’s – is secured at King’s waist. But the other?”

“How would you know this? I read a detailed book about the Winter Kingdom. There was nothing about this lost line in it, and they mentioned everything there...” Eragon suddenly paused. Murtagh gave him a curious look.

_That which you need to know, you cannot find in the book. It is not there._

He saw the loose ends in his mind, but couldn’t connect them. Then Saphira asked, _Eragon? In the Ancient language, Elder’s and Elders’ is the same word._

A knot tied itself on Eragon’s stomach.

_As armies disappear in the shadow of Elder's wings; Another monarch pain and sorrow to insanity brings; Thus begins the dark reign of Thirteen; From the land of no kings._

The prophecy required only _an_ Elder dragon. Eragon looked to Glaedr. Then to Oromis, who was fully present, with a terrified expression. “The other stayed in the possession of the family of Eragon I. Left to his daughter – Lilith. In Norvedrgarde.”

 _As the fair folks face the dragon thief._ Eragon looked to the elves fighting beneath him.

Murtagh suddenly looked uneasy. He was at a disadvantage. It was obvious Oromis and Eragon were figuring something out. Then, a chant from the Imperial Army reached their ears. A smug expression returned to Murtagh’s face. “Well, Galbatorix has wanted to try this spell out for ages. You know, he truly hates the Urgals.”

Eragon shouted in vain. Then, the battlefield was filled with the sound of explosions. Thousands of small explosions ripped through one part of the elven army. Any sounds of the battle were overpowered by the screams of the unfortunate. Oromis and Eragon watched with heavy hearts as a wave of energy tore through all the Urgals, tearing their heads apart, cracking them open as if they were nothing but empty egg shells.

_Everything the thirteen knows will leave._

“What have you done?!” Eragon shouted, shooting a quick glance to Oromis. “The prophecy is about to take place!” None of the Riders noticed the rime growing on their armours. None of them noticed as the temperature suddenly plummeted.

“What are you talking about?” Murtagh said, “The prophecy is expired. The Ghost Queen was the Thirteenth, and she died.”

“She was the Twelfth. The Dead Queen was never a queen! She was never coronated!”

One scream dominated all the others, filled with despair and pain. Eragon quickly found the source of it, but he already knew whose it was. Marzanna threw away her helmet and clutched her head with trembling hands.

And then it hit Eragon. “Marzanna, DON’T!” Before Saphira could move, it felt as if the energy around the she-elf started to collapse, imploding with her in the centre. Then, with a great dash, it lashed out against the King’s army.

The first wave of power drained the soldiers of their warmth, changing them into solid icy stones. The second wave shattered them into shards. Even though Eragon was locked inside his own mind, he could all the lives ended in a single second.

Snow started to fall heavily. Suddenly, the snowflakes began to connect, creating something like blades. Those who were lucky enough to have escaped her before now faced ice blades shot at them with such a force, it penetrated even armour without shattering. Some elves were caught in the fire. No spells were able to protect them. They all shattered, just like the first soldiers. Eragon watched as Marzanna’s grey sword started to crack. Small leaves of steel fell away, revealing a white sword.

That is how an entire battle was ended by a single person. Marzanna fell to her knees on a duvet of snow, breathing heavily. A white cloud hovering above her head. Eragon and Oromis moved toward her, but they found themselves stopped by a spell, barely able to keep themselves up in the air. Thorn and Murtagh flew around them. His half-brother wielded Zar’roc.

Marzanna looked up to him, still on her knees. She raised her arm, aiming in front of herself. The air there suddenly sparkled. Water vapor began to condensate and freeze there, creating an ice cone with many sharp thorns protruding from the tip and upper sides. Murtagh did not seem concerned by it.

“You have no right to a Rider’s sword!” Murtagh shouted at her.

With fury in her expression, Marzanna stood up, holding her sword tightly. “I do,” she answered with a terrifying calm.

As Thorn flew over the ice cone, a huge flash of white descended from the cloud, crashing into him. The massive momentum forced the red dragon onto the sharp ice, penetrating even his thick scales, suffusing the ice with scalding blood. But none of it melted away.

A huge white dragon held Thorn inside his claws, shaking him. The red dragon screeched loudly, but no matter what he did, he could not rid himself of the white dragon. Murtagh fell off his dragon, but managed to slow himself down so the ground did not hurt him.

Murtagh barely had time to recover before Marzanna attacked. The swords collided with a metallic groan. Transparent walls grew out of nowhere around them, separating them from the elves.

“You hurt my dragon! You will die for that!” Murtagh shouted and swung at her head. Marzanna easily avoided it and stomped on his foot.

“You killed my people! You took everything from me! Now, it is my turn.”

Murtagh immediately jerked his foot away from her, stumbling slightly on the growing ice below. Marzanna kicked his stomach, sending him to the ground. Seconds later, a white sword pierced Murtagh’s shoulder, pinning him to the ground. The Red Rider screamed in pain.

Marzanna pressed her foot into his wrist with all her power until he released  his sword. She easily picked it up and without hesitation thrust it through Murtagh’s other shoulder. His pain and Thorn's in his mind sent him into blackness.

The white dragon opened his jaws and pushed off the red dragon. Instead of fire, an icy stream left his mouth and covered Thorn, freezing him alive under a thick frost. Marzanna pulled both swords from Murtagh and mounted the white dragon when he landed next to her. He picked Murtagh from the ground without care and took off, soon disappearing into a huge white cloud of his icy breath.

_+BREAK+_

After the battle Eragon found himself in Tialdarí Hall in Ellesméra with Oromis, Islanzadí, and the elfish representatives. Thorn was left with Glaedr at the Crags of Tel’naeír. The best elven healers had treated him, but he still had not woken. The ice stopped him from succumbing to his wounds, but they remained serious.

“The prophecy never expired?” Islanzadí breathed out. All her strength seemed to leave her.

Oromis shook his head. “I am afraid not. The Dead Queen was never crowned. She wore a copy of her sister’s crown. It was assumed she co-ruled with her sister.”

The Elven Queen nodded. “We must find the other Riders, soon.”

Eragon spoke up. “I know them both better than you do. It should be me who finds them.”

Islanzadí nodded. “Go. Galbatorix is vulnerable without them, but don’t let down your guard.”

The Blue Rider left Tialdarí Hall, leaving footprints behind him in the snow.


	9. Touch of Winter

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Beta-reader: Dragonblooded

Though Murtagh was still lost deep in the realm of nightmares, he guarded his thoughts well with the memory of his last moment awake, swimming on the surface of his mind. The moment he started to graze the shallowest levels of his mind, his breathing unbalanced, and he remembered exactly what had happened, and in what situation he might wake.

Murtagh did not dare open his eyes. He tried to even his breathing as much as he could. He waited a few minutes to make sure he had not alerted anyone before he truly listened to his surroundings. He could hear the deep rumbling exhale of a creature many times bigger than himself, and soft scrapes that reminded him of the tip of a sword gliding over stone floors. The last thing he noted was the whinging of the wind as it crashed against walls of the room.

Encrusted ice covered both of his shoulders, numbing his nerves and sealing his blood inside his body. He could tell he wasn’t properly healed, and, according to the empty feeling inside his stomach, it had been a few days since he was last awake. Heavy, cold weights on his hands and feet stopped him from moving, or even clenching his fingers. The numbing cold paralysed his limbs in a frightening lack of sensation.

The Red Rider waited patiently for another hour or more, certain the she-elf was in the room with him, but he couldn’t figure out where. The repetitive sounds were slowly lulling him to sleep again. He tried to distract himself by touching the link to Thorn’s mind, but felt nothing. Murtagh knew they were too far from each other, but was certain that if Thorn had died, he would have known. He could still be hurt, though.

The scraping suddenly stopped.

“Will you talk to me now?” said someone with a deep, sharp, male voice. Rustling echoed from across what felt like a rather large room. No one answered him. “You haven’t spoken in three days. You can’t keep ignoring me.” The voice sounded more irritated now.

Another voice joined, this one familiar. “Can’t I? I can try. I did not create you to be my therapist,” answered the she-elf.

A sigh escaped the man. “There has to be something I can do. I want to help you. You are everything to me.” There was some more rustling.

“How could you help? They were my everything, and I lost them all in a single second! I have nothing left! I dedicated my life to them!” For the first time, Murtagh heard some emotion in her voice, and it wasn’t good. The storm outside grew louder. An icy breeze flew through cracks in the walls.

Murtagh expected the man to get mad at her exclamation, but to his surprise, he only sighed again. “Come here.” The whispered words carried through the room to Murtagh’s ears. The Red Rider slightly opened his eyes.

There was no fire in the room, but a ball of white dim light hovering in the middle of the large room, leaving no shadows around it. The room was half filled by a huge mountain of white scales, seemingly sleeping.

Next to it stood an elf-like ice statue, shining with energy from within. Carefully, as if approaching a wild animal, the statue wrapped its arms around the she-elf. As soon as he touched her, she immediately fell into his embrace and clutched desperately at him, releasing a heartbreaking sob.

“They were all so young! So many young Urgals, just trying to earn glory and honour, without harming innocents, and without stupidly endangering their lives.” The she-elf paused again as she hiccuped. “And they are all gone. Because of a stupid spell that honed in on their horns. Isn’t it ironic? Their greatest pride, became their weakness. There was nothing heroic about their death, nothing worthy of a storyteller. They will just disappear, forgotten, as if they were nothing more than dust. And all because of me, because I decided to leave the goddamned Varden!” Her voice was quivering from the effort of containing her emotions – not very successfully. Murtagh could hear her anger, bright as a flame, and the guilt eating her up.

The ice man glided his hand over her silver white hair, pressing her face deeper into his shoulder. Murtagh was upset he couldn’t see his expression. The king had had the bright idea to give him the speed and strength of an elf, but not their eyesight.

“They chose to follow you. What happened to them is not your fault. You cannot predict every possible spell to make their wards impenetrable,” the man paused for a second, continuing to caress her hair affectionately. “That spell would have been used one way or another. It could have been with the Varden, which would have killed every Urgal you know. This way only some died, sacrificing their lives so others could live.”

The she-elf cried into the man’s shoulder, mourning her lost friends. The ice man patiently hugged her, offering a comfortable silence, until she herself decided to break it.

“What am I to do now? We have nowhere to go, and I don’t know what I am,” the she-elf said with a steadier voice.

“You have always had an affinity for ice and the cold. You are no different than before. Just more powerful. I will do my best to help you control it. Besides, we also have that disgusting bloody knot over there.” The last sentence the man said with such disgust it made Murtagh shiver. Especially when he realized the ice man was talking about him.

For another long moment they just stood in silence, the she-elf lost inside her mourning and the ice man lost inside her. When she pulled out of the embrace, it seemed to Murtagh that the man did not enjoy letting her go. He seemed rather overprotective. “I’ll stand watch. I am not letting anyone inside this tower.” Turning on his heel, the ice man left.

The girl started to prepare meal – a stew. That surprised Murtagh; he thought elves never ate meat. When she needed a fire, she just raised her hand to the wood and without a word a bright white fire started to burn. An uncomfortable knot tied itself in Murtagh’s stomach. Wordless spells were known to be dangerous. Even the king used the ancient language to control his magic.

Murtagh waited a few minutes until he was sure the ice man would be further away. Then, he let the guards around his mind down. He felt only one other mind in the room with him. He immediately shot with full force at their shields.

He slipped through the strange, spiky, icy walls protecting she-elf’s mind as if his mind was the thinnest blade in Alagaësia. _Marzanna_ – rang inside his head as soon as he invaded her mind. A clank resonated in the room as she dropped the things she was holding.

Marzanna’s mind felt so much stranger than any other he had ever encountered. His consciousness appeared in a forever frozen land, plains buried under layers and layers of blinding snow. Sometimes, a cold wind blew around his personification in her mind and removed some snow from atop what frozen puddles. Under ice of various thicknesses, he could see memories locked inside lakes throughout the plains.

Murtagh noticed the thin ice over some puddles starting to crack. Sometimes, he could hear a faintly whispered thought. He was so consumed by the strange place that he didn’t notice his own mind was slowly being turned into another block of ice. He only realized it when Marzanna pushed him with a brute force out of her mind into his own warm place.

The Red Rider was so shaken that he didn’t realize his eyes were closed. He could feel the chilly wind devouring his warmth, leaving nothing behind but the touch of winter’s hands. Murtagh had been freezing before, but now it was nearly unbearable.

His eyes shot open and looked directly into an icy blue pair only inches away, filled with a stormy rage promising only pain. Murtagh was in no shape to push her away, or even come up with anything to say to her.

He noted her hand placed on his naked skin directly above his heart. Murtagh groaned in pain as her nails dug into his chest, scratching his skin open. “After all you have done, how dare you!” Marzanna hissed. A strange white fog clouded her eyes. “ _You won’t harm me again!”_

Icy laces shot out of nowhere into his chest and started wrapping around his heart, zigzagging into various loops, tightening and restricting the organ inside an icy cage. Murtagh yelped and tried to free his hands so he could relieve the itch that he now felt in his chest. With every beat his heart hammered against the cage around it.

As soon as the last laces tied together, Murtagh was panting. Her hand immediately left his chest and she pulled away to a safe distance. The Red Rider suddenly felt a cold emptiness from within tugging on his heart, reminding him of its chains.

“W...what have you done to me, witch?!” Murtagh shouted. Immediately, he felt a strange stab of pain, which he was certain did not belong to him. He searched for Thorn’s link, half hoping their connection was appearing again.

Marzanna, standing now, was looking down at him with distaste and disgust, yet Murtagh could see confusion in her eyes. “I just wanted you to not harm me anymore. As long as I need you alive, you will be under this spell. Or...whatever it is.” Then she walked away from him back to her slightly overcooked stew.

As the distance between them grew bigger, Murtagh felt the chilly emptiness inside him expand deeper. He lapped for air for a while until he grew used to it. Subconsciously, he tried to free himself of his shackles again so he could scratch his chest and break the cage apart, but the ice surrounding him held still.

“Take it off, you godforsaken witch!” Murtagh yelled after her angrily. The pulsing pain inside his chest resumed. “You are a monster, just like your ancestors!”

“I suppose we're a match made in hell, then!” she spat, “Morzan’s son and the Winter Witch, or whatever the hell I am. You can hardly hold the crimes of my ancestors against me when I do not even know what they have done.”

The pain Murtagh now felt was certainly his. He clenched his teeth. Being reminded of his father was something he hated. He realized he had just done the same thing to another person, no matter how bad they were. In a way, they were really more alike than they were different. “I am sorry.” He whispered, but was sure she would hear him.

A small warm breeze suddenly washed over him, feeding the emptiness. Murtagh sighed in relief. Marzanna watched him curiously, almost surprised. In the end, she had very little control over her powers. The Red Rider wanted to feel that warmth again, but before he could say anything, the ice man barged in, looking rather alarmed.

The first glance he gave was to Marzanna, scanning her for injury. As soon as he finished, his eyes fell to Murtagh. “What did that bastard do to you?! Please, let me kill him for you.”

“Not yet. We need him.”

_+BREAK+_

The next day, Murtagh was lost in his thoughts. Typically, he would have been planning his grand escape. But instead, he was so desperate to feel that strange warmth in his chest again, to make the icy cage a bit more bearable.

He tried to observe the two more, to know them better. It seemed to him as if the white dragon did nothing but sleep. The ice man sometimes stood watch, but usually returned only a few minutes later, as if not to leave him alone with Marzanna. He tried to start a conversation with her, but with no success. The she-elf ignored him pretty well.

She would lift her eyes every once in a while to give him a stern glance, and then returned her attention to the armour she cleaned. Murtagh became hopeful when she rose holding a bowl of stew and turned in his direction.

Just as she was about to take her first step, the ice man barged in with a frown on his face.

“Little one, I will do it. It may not be wise to go too close to him. He is just as treacherous as the king.” The ice man’s fingers slid gently over her hand to the bowl, taking it away from her. For a moment, it seemed as if she was willing to argue with him, but she let go of it. Something about the endearment he used sounded familiar to Murtagh.

Marzanna then turned back to her armour, and the ice man approached him in long strides. With something that looked like a spoon made of ice, he started shoving food down Murtagh’s throat. The Red Rider gagged, unable to properly swallow with the spoon buried in his throat.

When the ice man was finished, half of the stew lay around Murtagh, never having reached his throat. His still-empty stomach growled angrily. He gave the ice man a bitter look, but did not say anything, not wanting to give him the satisfaction.

Murtagh wasn’t sure which person in the room hated him the most. The ice man obviously detested him for harming Marzanna. He tried to list the man’s weaknesses, but he couldn't spot any in the solid form. Sometimes, he spotted a flickering light inside the man’s skull, but he didn’t know how he could use that to his advantage.

Marzanna certainly hated him, but she seemed guilty over putting him under her spell, so she wasn’t cruel to him. The Red Rider lamented inside his head over what could have made her hate him so much. He had certainly done terrible things, but which one had been the last straw.

She had attacked him first with Eragon I's sword, which had cut through his defences around Thorn. Yes, he had tried to attack her back over Gil’ead. But she had destroyed his army; a fight between them would be expected. That was not enough to make her hate him this much. Had he killed someone close to her?

He noted her armour. It was not elven-made. As he started to connect the information he had overheard, it dawned on him. She blamed him for the death of the Urgals.

The next chance he got was a few hours later, when the ice man left again. He fidgeted in his place and moaned in pain, drawing her attention to him. She observed him carefully, looking for any danger he could cause. “I am freezing. I get it: you only need me alive, not healthy. But I am going to freeze to death here,” Murtagh complained.

His complaint was met with silence.

“You need me for information, right? Why not rip it off of my mind and let me die quickly?” he asked. It was not his plan to die soon, but he needed to get risky. A little pang of pain appeared in his heart, making the emptiness expand slightly.

“I am not entering that vile place you call your mind,” she sneered back at him. Her tone suggested she did not mean it fully, though. She walked closer to him, but stopped a few steps away.

“I'm not going to bite you, princess.” Murtagh felt better the moment she got close, but his happiness turned to ash as soon as he felt another pang of pain.

In the end she sat next to him on the floor and put her hands on one of the ice bricks holding his hands, it immediately cracked and fell apart, releasing his hand. “Don’t call me that,” she whispered, “I am no princess.”

Murtagh did not dare move his hand, worried she would think he was trying to attack her. When her hands wrapped around his hand, he moaned again. But this time, not in pain. The emptiness inside him seemed to feed off of her touch and proximity, and the void grew smaller, less prominent, more tolerable. The Red Rider did not even realize that the warmth was returning to his limb, that he could feel it again properly.

Marzanna gave him a confused look.  

He wanted to do anything to get more of that feeling. It felt addictive, as if he had been burnt and now had cold water to comfort it. Murtagh quickly snatched her wrist with his free hand and pulled her to him. Within a second, with a yelp, Marzanna found herself pressed against Murtagh’s body.

The relief was instant, the emptiness succumbing in her closeness, making him feel so much better and calmer and happier than he had ever remembered having been. There was no pang of pain, as he hadn't had harmful intentions toward her.

“What the hell are you doing?” she shouted. It couldn’t have been more than a few seconds before she pulled herself away from him, back to a safe distance. Her expression was outraged. A block of ice started to form around his hand again, but Murtagh did not feel its coldness. The fed emptiness in him provided him with an inner heat for as long as it stayed sated.

Murtagh ignored her question with no regrets, despite her indignance. “You _are_ a princess, since your mother was a queen.”

“Funny, but Islanzadí is certainly not my mother. I do not even look like her,” Marzanna huffed. For a moment, she seemed to have forgotten what Murtagh had done in order to get the information she wanted.

Murtagh shook his head. “Not that kingdom.”

“Then I am afraid we are running out of kingdoms.”

“There was once a kingdom in the North – small, but feared. It eventually became known as the Winter Kingdom, since the lands were almost always covered in snow. I heard it was a rather hostile environment.” He paused for a while, picking up again as soon as he noted Marzanna's impatience. “Your mother was known as the Ghost Queen. Her name was Lilith.”

“How do you know she was my mother?”

“There was a prophecy, predicting your powers, but some mistakes were made, and we did not understand it completely. Besides, you look like your mother, except for the silver hair. Your sword is another clue.”

Marzanna gave him a questioning look. “But I've never been to the North. I only remember running through the woods carrying this sword. I could not have been older than six or seven, and Boreas was just old enough to fly.”

“Well, your sword belonged to your grandfather, who left it in the capital of the Winter Kingdom – Norvedrgarde. And it seems that Dragon Riders tend to run in families.” Murtagh smirked bitterly. “And since Eragon I. and his partner the Iron Queen were both Dragon Riders, and their dragons were white and grey, it would seem that you are their heir.”

There was a silence as Marzanna absorbed the new information. Eventually, she whispered, “Tell me more about my mother.”

“The Ghost Queen was possibly the only Queen of the Winter Kingdom, who ever did something good for this world. Some believed your grandmother – Oriona – was good, too. It is not widely known that she was the one who killed her partner Eragon I. His dragon killed her after. Her dragon was bound to protect her, and fought the other one to the death. One of them survived, I do not know which, but they later died of grief. No one knows what truly happened. I suppose it had a lot to do with the madness that is a part of your family as well,” Murtagh finished. He expected another pang of pain, but it didn't come, despite Marzanna's clear distress.

The Red Rider decided to tell her more about the Ghost Queen, carefully wording his speech so as to not reveal too much information.

He couldn’t afford to lose his worth to them. And his worth was determined by information.

_+BREAK+_

For the next few days, nothing changed. The snow storm outside showed no signs of weakening. The ice man still hated his guts, the dragon – Boreas – still slept. Murtagh was pretty sure he hadn't seen him awake since the battle, but Marzanna did not look worried.

The aforementioned she-elf was unsuccessfully trying to keep her distance from Murtagh. He sometimes caught her observing him, her eyes gliding over his form. Then, as if stung, her expression hardened and she diverted her eyes.

The constant lying was tiring Murtagh, so he slept throughout most of the days. He had been asleep for a few hours already when something shook him out of his slumber. Confused, he cracked his eyes open and searched for the interruption. It took him a few seconds to realize that only the ice man stood on the other side of the room, and Marzanna was nowhere to be seen.

He fidgeted uncomfortably in place, but that strange feeling that something was off did not go away. Murtagh felt his heart clench slightly, as if his intuition was clawing at it, telling him something was wrong.

Soon enough, the feeling became a pulsing pain in his chest. Then, it became throbbing, and in a few minutes, a terrible stabbing pain wracked his chest. He thrashed about, earning him the attention of the ice man, but no matter how much he moved, he couldn’t escape the pain.

Murtagh was hurting terribly, and it was growing worse with each second. He slowly stopped seeing his surroundings, his mind focused only on the pain inside him. Every beat of his heart was pure misery. The Red Rider did not even notice he had managed to break the ice block around one of his hands. He clawed at his chest, scratching at it so roughly he managed to draw blood. It was nothing in comparison to what he felt.

“Make it stop!” he repeated, until his voice went raw. “GET HER HERE!”


	10. Colder by the Hour

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Beta-reader: Dragonblooded

“GET HER HERE!”

Soon enough Murtagh released his other hand and his chest became bloody mess in a matter of seconds. The air was filled with the smell of iron. The ice man watched him in disgust, but worry as well.

“I am not letting her fall for a stupid trick of yours,” he sneered at him. The statue’s limbs twitched, as if he was unsure whether he should do something or not.

Murtagh growled through clenched teeth: “This is no goddamned trick! It’s her spell! Wake that lazy overgrown lizard and call her.” His fingernails were slipping on his blood-covered chest. He felt his skin split under his nails, releasing another wave of warm sticky liquid, but it wasn’t enough. It didn’t hurt enough to overpower the restrictions around his heart and the clawing emptiness on the edges of his own being.

 “It might not be comfortable, but you can survive like this until she returns,” the ice man spat out, hatred now shining right through his eyes onto Murtagh. The Red Rider felt the laces tightening even tighter and his heartbeat growing slowly but surely weaker.

“Get. Her. Here. Or I will tell her,” growled out Murtagh.

“You have nothing to tell her, which might frighten me.”

“I do. You are not as subtle as you think you are. We both know, what it means if a man is finding excuses to touch a woman. And you do exactly that, but you don’t want her to know.” Murtagh closed his eyes as his muscles started to cramp from the exertion. He wasn’t sure about it, he was only betting and hoping he would hit the right string.

There was a silence for a while, until the ice man growled out. It was a deep rumbling sound, reminding him of a cat, but thousand times bigger. “Try to tell her and you are dead.” It certainly wasn’t a plain threat. Without a word he left the room.

A minute later a white eye the size of a gong opened on the other side of the room, fully awake and alert, as if the dragon did not sleep for few days. The huge eye glided towards Murtagh, evaluating him. For a second two pairs of eyelids closed.

Within a moment the pain in Murtagh’s heart stopped growing and started to crawl back inside the void, where it came from. The Red Rider did not even realize his cheeks were stained with tears of despair. The relief was coming, but was so slow. Every second dragged like hours.  

His chest was pulsing, his nerves irritated and provoked. Despite the terror leaving him, he felt as if he lost everything in the world he knew.

All of sudden there was a wave of relief. The door to the room barged open and in stormed Marzanna. In spite of her fiery raged somehow pointed at Boreas – the dragon, she looked positively worried. She immediately rushed to Murtagh’s side and raised her right hand. A bright glow of gedwëy ignasia lightened her palm and without a single word in the ancient language the wounds on his chest started to heal, various fibres connecting together, stitching the skin.

The Red Rider without a second thought lifted his arms and with renewed energy he wrapped them around her middle and since he was not tied anymore, he was able to roll them so he had her pinned to the ground beneath him and he buried his face to her neck. The moment his skin made contact with hers, instead of the coldness which seeped from her, he felt as if every cell in his body got excited with a sphere of happiness, slowly filling the hole inside him.

His palms gently slid over her shoulders, arms, elbows, forearm to her own hands, where he locked their fingers together and pressed them to the cold ground. He basked in the contact with her. The emptiness inside him acted as a starved beast craving her closeness to sate it and maybe lull it to sleep.

Murtagh did not even realize she was calling his name and was trying to throw him off. Somehow Marzanna managed to get leg under him and kicked him in his stomach as hard as she could, sending him off of her.

“You really need to stop doing this,” she growled at him and sit up. Murtagh massaged his freshly bruised ribs and rubbed off some of the dried blood from his now healed chest. He couldn’t remember the last time he felt this strong. Marzanna rubbed her neck, where Murtagh’s nose touched her skin. She already knew of the situation, since Boreas told her everything.

Her expression changed to worry. “I am sorry for the spell. I did not realize it was restricted to distance. I suppose my magic thought that not allowing you to get too far from me, might protect me,” she paused for a while, making Murtagh a little bit restless and nervous. “You need to tell me more about my ancestors, I need to learn more about myself and the magic we share.”

The Red Rider nodded. He slowly licked his lips as an idea formed inside his head. “You told me, you don’t plan to take the information forcefully. I am willing to tell you some of the things I know. But I have a deal.”

“I am not setting you free,” she frowned. Nervously she combed her hair with her fingers, Murtagh’s eyes not leaving her for a second.

“At least within this room,” said Murtagh firmly. Marzanna nodded to that. “And if I am to recall the most I can, I want something out of it as well. I want a proper kiss.” Usually, he would be mad at himself for not striking a better deal or for not abusing the reality he basically was out of chains. Logic left his mind, where Marzanna entered.

She coughed. “You surely don’t mean this seriously. That’s the spell talking out of you.”

“Maybe. But it doesn’t change the reality that this is the only deal I am willing to make,” he grinned at her. Marzanna seemed rather reluctant about that, which somehow pleased Murtagh. Truth be told, he would be willing to trade a bit more, but he knew she certainly would not allow that.

Marzanna shot a quick glance to the now sleeping dragon, before she leaned forward with a sigh and her fingers clutched the ripped shreds of his former tunic. She pulled him to herself and pressed her lips harshly against his.

Exactly as he expected, they were cold as ice, but soft as satin. Murtagh was petrified, the renewed physical connection with him made energy bubble inside him, almost blinding him with the force of it. It made his heart hammer against its restriction harder, but the laces around it were beating with in rhythm with it.

Before he was able to recover, she pulled away and the humming feeling of power within him disappeared. He wanted so badly to reach out and feel it again. “That’s not a proper kiss,” he murmured.

He leaned in forward. To his surprise she did not pull away, but actually looked at him in expectations. Murtagh saw for the first time a hint of colour in her cheeks. His black hair fell into his eyes, throwing a shadow over them. A self-assured smirk appeared on his lips with a hint of mischief. The tips of his fingers caressed her cheek, feeling its cold softness and tilting her face a little bit upwards.

He stopped a centimetre in front of her lips. For a second he looked down to catch a glimpse of her perfectly shaped pale lips. Then he focused his attention to her eyes and winked at her. “This is a proper kiss.”

Their lips sealed. He locked her lower lip between his and glided his tongue over it, opening her mouth a little bit further and giving himself the access to her mouth. Without a hesitation he reached out to taste her properly. Marzanna gently bit him, surprised at his boldness. But it did the exact opposite.

“That is enough for a demonstration, don’t you think?” A cold growling voice interrupted them. Murtagh did not even move, but Marzanna pulled away from him as if she was caught doing something wrong.

Murtagh growled back at the ice man and with newly gained freedom he dared to shot him a hateful stare back. He watched Marzanna walk away and felt the glow inside him go dim. “Will you introduce me to … Boreas, now?” He got up and tried to rub off the dust from floor on his clothes.

“But you already know him, right, Boreas?” she shot a smile at the ice man and wrapped her arms around his torso in a hug and kissed him on his cheek. The ice man smiled back at her with fondness.

Murtagh was silent for a while, before he shrugged. It actually was pretty obvious now that he thought of it. “How exactly does that work?”

The pair in front of him exchanged glances, deciding whether to share their secrets. “We fill a diamond with energy and then it is only sculpting and carving. No big deal,” she turned back to Murtagh. “You owe me a story.”

The Red Rider smiled warmly at her and beckoned for her. And he proceeded to tell her about the Grey Queen and the Bloody Queen. He tried to dampen the terrors of the latter queen with proper formulation, but he saw shame enter Marzanna’s eyes.

_+BREAK+_

Over the next few days Murtagh was trading his knowledge. He started with asking only for kisses, later he included kissing her neck, too. Once he was sure, she got used to him, he dared without asking or trading to go from her neck even lower. It was a personal win for him when she did not pull away and instead wrapped her hands around his head and brought him closer. He couldn’t get enough of her presence. Murtagh realized he was addicted to it, but he didn’t want to let go. He never felt this close to someone. Yes, Thorn was his soulmate and he wouldn’t change anything about that. But she was the first he cradled romantic feelings for and their physical contact was making it even deeper.

Eventually, he was able to mine some information about her as well. “Aren’t you afraid to use spells without the ancient language? Even the king uses it to make sure he won’t destroy himself and everything around him,” said Murtagh as he watched her use yet another wordless spell.

She was silent for a long time and Murtagh was worried he made her mad. Marzana sighed. “My vocabulary in the ancient language is rather limited. I wouldn’t be able to cast a spell at all with the words I know.”

“What? I thought the elves speak the ancient language as their mother language,” blinked at her in surprise Murtagh.

“True, they are. But I wasn’t raised amongst them.” Then she proceeded to tell him, how she was found by Urgals and brought up by them. Murtagh listened with such interest he didn’t even pay attention to Boreas’ growling.

Once she finished, Murtagh without hesitation blurted out: “Maybe I could teach you some useful words for spell casting.” It was worth seeing her smile. She nodded to that enthusiastically. After that they spent hours together every day and her vocabulary was quickly improving. Murtagh sometimes wondered, whether elves had better memory than humans. Despite her limited range of words, she was able to use complicated spells by creating strange connections in her mind.

Eventually, it had to end like everything does. One morning – or he thought it to be morning – he woke up and found no one there, but a lifeless ice statue. The dragon was nowhere to be seen and nor was Marzanna. He carefully lowered his mental shields, but found no life beside few mice. In few hours he got rather bored and restless, so he managed to investigate the rest of the building.

They were staying for certain in some tower, standing tall and proudly on a hill, which was basically not accessible from the ground. It took him only few seconds to figure they were probably at Utgard. The snow storm outside calmed down after layering a thick duvet over everything alive and dead.

Murtagh shivered and retreated back further inside. The ache within him pulsed uncomfortably, thanks to which he knew Marzanna wasn’t really too far, but enough to be tugging on their bond.

After few hours of waiting by a fire he started to warm himself up, he got hungry and was able to catch those mice and prepare them for a decent meal. He didn’t necessarily enjoy it. It couldn’t compare to his feasts with king. But eating mice was still better than being in king’s presence. It was really late when dared to check with his mind his surroundings.

As soon as he opened his mind, he immediately had to jump behind his shields again. There, not far from Utgard was a huge shining mind. Murtagh managed to calm his mind down to not catch the intruder’s attention. He knew for certain it wasn’t Marzanna, since he still felt she was far away.

The Red Rider was fully alert even after many more hours. Anxiety was keeping him on the edge and he did not dare to open his mind. He sighed with relief when he felt the tugging on his heart weaken as Marzanna was on move and getting closer to him.

Boreas entered the room in hurry, both of them looking exhausted to the point of fainting. White dragon’s legs were shaking with exertion and immediately when he got to his favourite spot, he fell to the ground with a loud thud and with heavy breaths he closed his eyes and in a while a regular exhaling was heard.

Marzanna slid to the ground from his back, falling onto her knees tiredly. Murtagh was immediately by her side, gently lifting her and helping her to their sleeping spot. He just couldn’t skip a chance to touch her. “What happened?” He whispered, still anxious from the strange mind he felt earlier.

She looked up to him, her eyes nearly closing. “Eragon and Saphira are searching for us. We need to leave as soon as possible,” she paused for a while to gather some breath as well. Murtagh felt Saphira earlier.

“Why not go with them?” He asked. There was a hope Thorn was with them in the end, he desired to see his soulmate as well.

She gave him a strange glance. “Why do you think? If the prophecy you told me about is real, they will probably execute me to secure it won’t take place. And do you really think they will spare you? I know you were not with king voluntarily, but they see you as a threat.” She leaned her head against the cold wall behind her.

Murtagh could only nod to that. “What took you so long to return?” He asked carefully.

“Well, we ran out of food, but on our way back we spotted them and had to use an illusion to mask our minds and our bodies. The spell was stronger than we anticipated. I think they noticed something was off, because they kept patrolling our surroundings for ages after that. They left north now.” With that she turned on her side with her back to him and closed her eyes.

The Red Rider was kept awake with the anxiety still pumping in his veins. He carefully slid behind her and hesitantly put his arm around her, pulling her closer. The void instantly lapped at power he felt surge through him the moment he touched her. He caressed her arm and buried his face in the transition between her shoulder and neck.

It was a habit of his to murmur to her in the ancient language things he didn’t dare to tell her directly. Despite her not understanding it, he was getting through their bond positive vibes. She respected him wanting to keep some things secret, so she didn’t pry. Marzanna relaxed in his arms and fell into a needed sleep.

Murtagh didn’t fully realize how long he was talking to her sleeping form, but it must have been few hours, since she was suddenly looking up to him, listening silently to him. He whispered the last sentence to her and pressed his lips into a thin line and looked down at her. Marzanna turned to face he lost himself in the coldness of her ice-blue eyes.

A freezing hand touched his cheek and he slightly shivered, but did not pull away. He welcomed it. Murtagh pressed his cheek deeper into her hand and felt her fingers hook beneath his jaw.

“May I?” He almost overheard that. He nodded.

She leaned to him and captured his lips in a chilling kiss. It took them few seconds to get the right angle, but eventually both found their place. It wasn’t their first kiss, but felt somehow more relevant than any other before.

Her hand slid lower and together with it his tunic glided from his shoulders down, revealing his skin and leaving it for the cold-biting air. A push to his chest forced him on his shoulder blades with her on top of him. Murtagh’s hands carefully wrapped around her hips, holding her tightly to him. Her kisses moved from his lips over his chin to his neck. A sigh escaped his lips.

“Keep talking.” Marzanna didn’t need to specify. And Murtagh complied, words of the ancient language rolling from his tongue with ease, revealing his feelings, hopes and desires.

The tips of his fingers dug inside her skin, possibly later leaving some marks. Some more clothes got thrown away, his warmth skin burning like fire in comparison with her ice cold one. It was the moment she lowered onto him, he revealed too much. The name slipped through his oaths and out of his mind ringing inside her head. Marzanna shivered under the power of the name, but didn’t stop moving.

The familiar rush of power set his veins on fire again, but this time stronger than ever. His pleasure mingled with the one he felt from her through their bond and in a short while sent Murtagh over the edge. Lost in his pleasure he did not notice her hand on his chest above his heart until it was too late.

“No!” He shouted from his post-orgasmic haze, his voice blurred out in afterglow. It was too late, the shackles around his heart started to shatter. Murtagh was getting his freedom, but he didn’t want it. With sheer force of will he pressed onto the ice cage around his heart, trying to keep it together. He heard himself begging for her not to do it. “Why?”

“It would be a right thing to kill you, I need enough to know what I need to do, now and by leaving you alive, I risk everything. I guess, I got sentimental over you,” she mused. Murtagh blinked at her in confusion, his brain still not catching up with her. “What? You didn’t believe I would take you with me everywhere, or did you? No matter what, it will always be only Boreas and I. You don’t fit that pattern. I took you captive only due to your knowledge. I don’t need you anymore and with the spell you would be a perfect locator for us.”

“Please, don’t do it,” Murtagh couldn’t stop himself from saying it. Every word was like a stab to his heart, but no matter what he kept pressing against the laces tying his heart, not allowing them to disappear. But as if he was catching fog, it was slipping through his fingers.

“So it seems I am the Winter Queen, it would only be strange if my heart wasn’t frozen as well,” a smirk appeared on her face as she pressed her palm to his forehead.  “Slytha,” she whispered to his ear. Murtagh’s hands, which were still desperately clutching her to him, released her as he was forced by the spell to sleep.

_+BREAK+_

“Vakna,” a male voice resonated within Murtagh’s ears.

He unglued his eye lids and looked confused around. As his brain caught up with what happened, a different type of emptiness filled him. With his mind he reached out for the shackles which used to tie his heart.

Desperately he searched for any residual shackle, which would still connect him to her. He shouldn’t want her, especially after what she did to him, but he couldn’t help himself. The bond they used to have was something he treasured deeply and now he lost it. He almost gave up in his searching, but suddenly he noted a very thin and weak icy thread, which withstood the melting thanks to Murtagh’s effort to preserve their bond.

A spark of hope started to shine within him.

It was then, he noticed his companion. Eragon was looking down at him, worried but cautious. Saphira was resting in the place, where Boreas used to sleep. Murtagh was soon secured with spells and physical shackles – he did not resist at all, which earned him a strange look from Eragon.

Murtagh gulped and quietly asked: “Are you taking me to Ellesméra?”

“No,” the Blue Rider paused, he wasn’t sure whether to trust Murtagh or not. Eventually, he hesitantly continued: “I was tasked with bring you and Marzanna to Ellesméra. Will you tell me, what happened here?” Murtagh nodded and proceeded with Eragon’s wish, leaving out how she left him and some intimate things about them. He explained all in the ancient language, so Eragon would trust him. When he finished, the Blue Rider nodded carefully and talked for a while to Saphira in his mind. Murtagh just stared into emptiness and wished for everything to return. “We should go north, she might want to hide in Norve-,” he got interrupted.

“She is not going there. Yet,” blurted out Murtagh.

“How do you know that?” asked Eragon suspiciously.

“It’s the spell she put on me.”

“I thought you said she took it away.”

“She did. Mostly,” admitted Murtagh.

“Do… you know, where they are both going?” asked hopefully the Blue Rider.

Murtagh carefully pulled on the fragile string attached to his heart and listened to its singing. The moment the string stopped quivering, he knew. A heavy uncomfortable weight settled inside his stomach.

“I do. We need to fly south. To Dras-Leona.”


	11. Interludium - The Night Queen

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Beta reader: Dragonblooded

 

The night the Bloody Queen fell, her killer – the first known Shadeslayer, elf Laetri – felt a strange bittersweet satisfaction. Flashes of their common past ran before his eyes, reminding him of who she used to be and who she became.

With a heavy heart he dropped his sword to the ground and looked down at his former queen. He had been a child when she was born and he remembered how happy he felt for the Grey Queen, for the first princess in their kingdom. A sad smile appeared on his face. There had been a huge feast in celebration of her birth. The taste of prickly pear pie flooded his tongue.

He had been so proud, when he learned he got to train their future Queen. He had been so nervous, but he had played it off under the image of a cold warrior. He would consider himself lucky and honoured as time went on. His task was amazing, and brought him great joy.

As princess became Queen, he found his friendly loyalty changing into a romantic one, and to his surprise, his Queen felt the same way. He had always known her to be ruthless, a little bit uncaring and apathetic, but he overlooked it in his lovesick haze.

But one day, that fog surrounding him had disappeared, and all her terrors dawned on him. He managed to escape and found shelter in the neighbouring elven kingdom. He had wanted to take their new-born daughter with him so badly. When he was leaving the city under the veil of night, he faced two options. Either be captured, or leave without his daughter. And his choice was made.

Now he stood over the corpse of his former beloved. The world was free of a terrible monster disguised as a beautiful Queen. He became a hero, but he felt like a villain. And indeed, he was a villain in someone else’s story.

With a heavy sigh he walked to the window he had climbed in through. Laetri reached for the latch, but found it locked and unmovable. The elf frowned and pulled on it, each time more and more desperate. When he looked closer, he noticed a strange black substance seemingly seeping in from the outside. It acted as a glue, blocking the mechanism from opening.

The black substance, like the night sky itself, started to glide through the cracks in the windows and curl itself into a shifting cloud in the corner of the room. Laetri took a few steps back, unsure what was happening. The view from the windows was completely hidden.

“You killed mother,” stated a voice behind him. The elf immediately whipped around and looked at the intruder. There stood his daughter, an apathetic expression on her face, only marred by the fury in her eyes. When she spoke, it was as if her mind floated somewhere distant.

Laetri gave her a few seconds, hoping she would continue so he could extend the moment. He had not seen her since she was a baby, but he would recognize her anywhere. He could see some of his own features in her face--his hair, his eyes--but the face was completely her mother. “I.. I did. We both know what she did. I am sorry,” he whispered with a broken voice.

The fury in her eyes dampened, only to be replaced by a blank apathy. She watched him, but it almost seemed as if she didn’t see him. “You are not. My mother was right. Sometimes I wished I would have had a father, but she always told me you were not worth it. I see that now.”

“You know she was a horrible person,” Laetri said.

“But she was a better parent than you,” returned Nóttvísi, with a slight smile. For some reason, that smile worried Laetri more than her former apathy. What she said stung, because it was true.

He looked almost pleadingly to his daughter. “I can be your parent now. No one should be allowed to act as a god, deciding the fates of others. Your mother thought she was worthy of that power, but no one is. She… she was mad. I loved her, but she was mad. The madness took her away from me. I lost her just like you have.”

She paused, stretching the silence. Her eyes fell to her mother’s dead body. “We do not believe in gods, unless we are proven otherwise. The highest position before god is Queen or King, and those may decide others' fates in the gods' stead. My mother was a Queen. Now it is my turn to pick up where she was forced to leave off.” As she spoke, the smile on her face stretched farther and farther, and Laetri recognized a spark of the same madness he had seen before. His heart skipped a beat.

Nóttvísi lifted her arm and reached for the crown, sitting on her mother’s head. One diamond seemed to absorb light into its dull grey colour, and the other reflected it as a bloody red. The darkness in the corner lashed out, wrapping its claws around the crown and bringing it easily to the she-elf. Soon, her head was heavier under it. Together, they looked positively wicked.

The darkness had gained volume and slowly began coiling around Laetri, immobilizing him. He struggled against its grip, but no matter how much he moved, he could not free himself.

“You know,” she continued, as if oblivious to the threat of the darkness. “I always called myself half-orphaned. I grew quite used to it. Now, with my mother gone, I can call myself fully-orphaned. But then again, you stand in the way. What message would I send to my people, if I did not punish a traitor?” Her eyes snapped back to him, darker than the night itself.

“Don’t do this, don’t be like her. You know very well what a monster she was,” begged Laetri, who kept struggling to no avail.

She laughed out, and it sent chills to his bones. “That is your opinion. Maybe to the peasants she was a terror, maybe the greatest so far, but our land prospered under her rule. To us, she was a hero.” Her smile dissolved as she whispered venomously, “You will meet the same fate as your so-called friends.”

“No!” The darkness consumed Laetri, breaking into his lungs, suffocating him from the inside. He watched as his skin turned from pale white to pale blue. His limbs twisted into strange shapes until they reminded him more of branches than a body. His body did not belong to him anymore. The last thing to leave was his sight. His mind remained trapped forever in a pillar of blackness, with arms so strangely twisted that no leaves would touch them.

At dawn, Qybern, granted immortality under the Bloody Queen, rushed into the Queen's bedchamber. The room was consumed by a large black tree. By the door stood Nóttvísi. She looked to him with a completely blank expression.

“I am afraid we have had troubles with security. My mother has been killed. You have proven your loyalty to her and as such, I would like to reward you with a position as my hand,” she told him with a sweet smile on her face.

Qybern had seen many things in his life. He witnessed the entire reign of the Bloody Queen. He knew the cruelty of her line, but he was in no place to judge them. He respected them as he should. Deep inside, he had even admired the Queen and her power. Qybern worshipped their strange magic, and terrible as it was, he was almost excited to see more of it.

“As you wish, my Queen. It is an honour. Where is the murderer? He will be taken care of.”

She slowly turned her head to him, again with a strange fire inside her eyes. “No need for that. But if I may bother you, please get someone to cut down this tree. Give the wood to everyone in this city. The winter will be long, and anything to warm us shall be used.” She turned back to the tree, a flash of satisfaction straying across her face. “There shall be no more traitors to burn after tonight,” she whispered. Qybern heard well, but dared not pry. Living with the Bloody Queen had given him enough instincts to know better.

“Shall I prepare the coronation?”

“Please, do. It must take place before sunset. We are still under siege, and it is time we show them who they fight.” She turned on her heel and left the room, not a trace of mourning on her face. Not a trace of regret.

Later that day Norvedrgarde welcomed their third Queen. Her first speech she made at the rampart, for her people and her enemies to hear. No one tried to stop her. Fighting ceased as she spoke. In conclusion, she asked her enemies to surrender.

“I shall spare any who decides to leave their side for mine. Those who continue their attack on my city will be dead by morning.”

Only three elves surrendered and were accepted as hostage. The rest laughed at the young girl. Everyone believed that the Bloody Queen's power came from her spirits as a Shade. No one knew of the magic in their bloodline. They believed the city would fall to them in a matter of days. Then the problematic ruling family would be gone forever.

As the last rays of the sun disappeared, the three hostages were brought back to the ramparts, where the Queen awaited them. She smiled at them, but it was easy to see how false it was. She gestured to the army surrounding her city, waiting for the city to starve. The North, forbidding to most plants and foods, left the city understocked. The Queen was not worried.

“I spared your lives, but you will not stay here. I do not want any turncoats in my city, who switch sides the second they feel fear.” Her expression slowly hardened into the mask of a cold-blooded killer. “But I have a use for you. Watch carefully. I need you to describe this moment to anyone you can find.”

Nóttvísi turned to face her enemies and lifted her arms. The night’s darkness thickened around her, becoming a living mass, which started to float towards the camp outside of the city. From time to time, one could see movement--guards patrolling and soldiers wandering--but if anyone saw the darkness coming, they were not able to say so, for the darkness filled their lungs and no words came from them.

The three cowards watched in shock as all the people they knew suffocated, as their skin turned blue until it reached almost black and eventually, surrounded Norvedrgarde with a forest of black trees, which tower over anyone trying to pass through to the city.

“Go.” The whisper was almost silent, but the elves heard and ran from the city. When the morning came, no enemies were left alive.

The message about the Night Queen spread throughout all kingdoms. It was more than a scary story parents told their children before bed. It was a scary story parents told other parents, and their parents, and their parents before them. No one dared approach the city for as long as she ruled. Since then, people feared the night. The night could suffocate them and trap their souls. Those unlucky enough who get too close to Norvedrgarde never found their way out of the dark forest surrounding it.

When the Night Queen died of old age, she left the kingdom in hands of her daughter, like the others before her. In the end, candles defy and define darkness all the same, but it is a question of how long the candle lives. The end for all of us in a long, never-ending night.


	12. Frostbitten

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Beta-reader: Dragonblooded

“Dras-Leona, really? Are you sure about this?” asked Eragon hesitantly. It was obvious he was not fond of the city. It reminded him of Brom’s death, and the twisted religion which ruled there.

His brother nodded, looking fully certain. They searched the place and managed to find Murtagh’s sword Zar’roc. The Blue Rider looked at it, torn. The Red Rider lifted his eyebrow and extended his hand for the sword expectantly.

“I want to find her just as badly as you. Have some faith.” Murtagh would have liked to think he did not sound desperate when he said that.

“In you? Don’t be ridiculous,” Eragon spat back.

There was a tense silence between them until Murtagh broke it. “I can give you an oath in the ancient language.” He waited for Eragon to nod and then swore, “I am going to help you find and capture her, and I will not cause you any troubles or harm.”

Eragon bit his lip, uncertain. He looked to Saphira. _He could still betray us. The ancient language is not perfect._

Saphira levelled her head with his and blinked at him with her huge deep-blue eye. _When has trusting Murtagh ever been a mistake? We both know you missed him dearly. Why not try to reconnect? You can start by trusting him, but do not turn your back to him. Stay cautious._

The Blue Rider thought it over for a while. Then, he turned back to Murtagh and nodded, handing over Zar’roc. He gave his brother a stern look anyway. The Red Rider took the sword gratefully, appearing a bit more complete with it at his side.

As Eragon expected, the first hole in the ancient language appeared very soon. Despite promising not to cause any troubles, they hit their first issue before they even took off. Saphira had lowered herself so they could climb up on her back. Eragon started to climb into the seat, when Murtagh said, “I am not sitting in the front.” He looked to him defiantly and crossed his arms over his chest.

The Blue Rider looked at him speechless. His brother just sighed and continued. “I am not sitting in between your legs. That is a lady’s place. You take it. Besides, I am older and taller.”

“What? But this is _my_ dragon.” At that, Saphira growled dangerously, and both of them eyed her cautiously. Eragon slowly murmured, “Well, I am Saphira’s Rider, and as such, I am sitting in the saddle, and not in the ‘lady’s place’.” Eragon formed mocking air quotes. They argued for another few minutes, until Saphira cut the knot and silenced them both, and they did not dare defy her. Murtagh ended up sitting in the front.

The snow storm raged around them, whipping against Saphira, until she managed to ascend above it. The air there was so cold Eragon had to cast a warming spell. His brother offered him his energy vaults, but he was refused.

Although still grumpy, Murtagh eventually brought himself to speak. “So,” he started carefully after the long silence. “Is Thorn alright?” The question had been itching at him for ages.

His brother stiffened slightly behind him. Murtagh became immediately anxious. “Well,” Eragon began slowly, “The ice saved him from bleeding out, but when I was leaving Ellesméra...he was unconscious, but mostly healed. We have been expecting him to would wake any day.”

The Red Rider fought with his pride for a while, but in the end, he thanked Eragon, and it helped melt the wall between them. Slowly, they slid into a comfortable conversation, reminding them both of their common past.

Saphira flew quickly, sometimes only floating through the air, carried by the wind. In a short time, they were closing in on Dras-Leona. Throughout their entire flight, Murtagh had held onto the tiny string playing an anchor for their target. He told Saphira to fly a bit more east. Marzanna was not in Dras-Leona yet.

They found a somewhat safe spot in a forest east of Helgrind, where Saphira landed during the night, hidden from prying eyes. The snow storm covered every piece of land in inches and inches of snow. Trees wore new sparkly white crowns, and everything seemed to hide beneath a snowy duvet. Eragon worried for the lives of the people. This sudden winter would probably cause famine. Wars had been lost before due to famine and scarcity.

Eragon looked to Murtagh, completely focused on his little bond with Marzanna. His eyes were closed in concentration, his expression broken only by a shade of confusion. His eyes quickly snapped open. “I have a terrible feeling this will not be a fair fight.”

“Dragon against dragon, we are two riders against one, but she has her special powers. It seems rather even to me,” Eragon said. Murtagh just shook his head and remained silent.

“Anyway, I believe they are there.” Murtagh pointed through the trees. They could not see where he aimed. Both riders struggled their way through the trees until they pushed aside the last branches and were able to see what stood where Murtagh pointed.

Helgrind.

The blood in Eragon’s veins turned colder with every second he stared. Oh, how he hated that place. They observed it silently for a few hours, almost huddled together for warmth. Then, their patience paid off. Just before dawn, four figures emerged in a line, hidden beneath heavy black cloaks. What with the heavy snow, Eragon would have expected them to walk slowly, yet it seemed as if the snow jumped out of their way, easing their path.

Murtagh turned to him and whispered, as if they might hear them from the distance. “It is them.”

“Four?”

“Try to check their minds. Marzanna and Boreas both protect their minds. Unlike you.” He snickered. Eragon growled lightly and pushed Murtagh into the cold snow.

His brother huffed and moved back to his warmed spot. Eragon rolled his eyes. He opened his mind and carefully, fluidly expanded it towards those four figures. As he had worried, he recognized two of them – Ra’zacs. They walked on either end of the line. In the middle, he felt Marzanna’s ice-cold mind, and in front of her, almost protectively, walked… a dragon’s mind?

“Boreas – the dragon – is with them, too? How?”

Murtagh shrugged. “I am not sure how the magic works, but he is able to use an ice statue to do his bidding. You can ask her when we capture them.”

To that his brother could only nod. They watched the four of them walk to a wall, which at first seemed impenetrable, but they disappeared through a strange entrance. Eragon shot Murtagh a questioning look.

“What? I don’t know all the world’s secrets. I can get us in the city, but it will be risky. And you won’t like how,” his brother told him.

Eragon really did not like it, but he found himself standing in a cloak hiding his face right in front of the main gate, a gag in his mouth and a rope around his hands, while Murtagh led him by it to a guard.

“My Lord!” the guard sputtered, completely stunned. “We thought you were taken captive! I will call for servants.”

“No,” said Murtagh calmly, but sternly. “The King wants people to believe I have been taken captive. The Varden will think we are weakened, and will become more reckless. Besides, I brought this,” He spat in fake disgust, pulling on the rope around Eragon’s wrist. He staggered a few steps forward.

“What is that?” The guard copied Murtagh’s tone.

“A stupid elf. He has some answers for us, but before I deliver him to the king, I need to run some errands here.” The Red Rider paused for a while, almost looking lost in thought. “I need of you to stay silent about my presence, or you could ruin my mission. Not a single mention of this, understood?”

The guard suddenly looked like a scared mouse. Murtagh decided to add more fuel to the fire. “If my cover is blown, I will assume it was you who talked too much.” He leaned toward to the guard and whispered in a vicious tone, “And I will come for you.”

Without a moment of hesitation, the Red Rider led Eragon into the city, slipping in before people began to wake. As soon as they could, they slid into some smaller, better-hidden alley and disappeared into the shadows, where the Red Rider freed his baby brother again.

They walked carefully through the city, following the little anchor inside Murtagh’s chest, as he pulled on the string and listened to its quivering. None of them realized where it pulled them, until they stopped next to a three-towered monstrosity. Eragon’s face twisted into a furious mask. He muttered, “Not there.”

Murtagh pressed his lips into a thin line.

“We should hurry,” Eragon told him. “They might be prepared to eat them any second.”

“Don’t worry. I don’t imagine they’re thirsty for water, so Boreas a least will be fine.” Eragon glared, unamused. They both walked in through a side entrance, each constantly guarding the other’s back.

Following Murtagh’s string, they managed to get to the catacombs beneath Dras-Leona. They continued slowly, tense and ready for attack. Both swords ready. Eragon watched his surroundings carefully, until he caught what he needed.

There, a few meters away from them, flickered a shadow with a quiet rustling of fabric. The Blue Rider did not hesitate, immediately pursuing the Ra’zac, and ignoring the warning from Murtagh, which was cut off.

Eragon chased after him, sword raised, but the Ra’zac disappeared into the shadows of the dark room and tackled him from the side. Eragon barely had time to push away from its sharp beak. It still grazed his arm slightly. He kicked the Ra’zac in the head to stun him, giving himself time to raise his sword.

Eragon was certain that Brisingr could cut through any magical defences the king had put over the foul creatures. The sword was only a few inches away when the Ra’zac was swept aside. The Blue Rider barely had time to recover before he had to divert an ice sword, facing for the first time Boreas in his ice-form.

They duelled against each other for a time. While they fought, two things crossed Eragon’s mind. First, that Boreas was not used to his body or fencing, and the only reason why he was still fending Eragon off was strength and speed. And second, the reality that Boreas was rather reckless.

The Blue Rider could not explain that to himself until he managed to strike Boreas right through his icy leg. The blade went smoothly in, as if he was made of butter rather than ice.  But the leg did not shatter, as one would expect, and Boreas did not even show a hint of pain. It scarily reminded Eragon of the soldiers of Galbatorix, who felt nothing.

Before he recovered, he felt a sharp pain in his leg as well. The Ra’zac had awoken and attacked him, freeing Boreas of Eragon. They were protecting each other.

 _Eragon!_ Saphira shouted. For the first time, Eragon realized she had a plan as well. She had gone into Helgrind. An image shot to the front of Eragon’s mind. She stood right in front of a seemingly sleeping white dragon. Without any warning, she swung her tail and attacked him.

While the Blue Rider was distracted, Boreas had prepared to stab him with his sword, but he froze in place. The strange light inside his eyes went out as his mind was transported to his real body, which was under siege.

The Ra’zac screeched angrily. “You won’t harrrrm massssterssss!” Determined, he hit Eragon in the chest, sending him flying onto his back, and then disappeared into the shadows, taking ice-Boreas with him.

The Blue Rider panted for a few seconds, black spots clouding in his vision. He rubbed his chest and with a quick spell healed his leg. He was getting glimpses from Saphira, who was now in a huge fight with a white dragon. They rolled through Helgrind, the mountain rumbling loudly underneath them.

So much for keeping a low profile.

_+BREAK+_

“Eragon, wa-!” Murtagh began, but was interrupted as something slammed him into a wall. A cold forearm pressed against his throat, controlling his breath. In a matter of seconds, he was crushed against the wall by a layer of ice.

“How?” The Red Rider stared into the palest eyes he had ever seen. Despite her threatening presence, he felt the little bond in his chest grow stronger. A sense of happiness washed over him. He wanted so badly to hold her closer and renew their lost bond. “I knew it was a mistake to leave you alive. Boreas tried to convince me to kill you. I should have!”

“You should have,” Murtagh agreed, staying calm. He tried to save his air. Even though the forearm pressed tightly against him was restricting his airways, he felt his skin tingle where she touched him. “And I should be mad at you for what you did.”

She lightened the pressure on him. For a moment, she seemed regretful, but then a frown appeared on her face again. “Why? I set you free of that spell. You could have gone and found your dragon, yet you decided to go with Eragon on a hunt after me? Return to your bloody king and get out of my way,” she growled.

“Eragon had a better offer.”

“Such as?”

“Your presence. He was going to go after you anyway,” Murtagh said too gently for someone being held against a wall. He watched the realization slowly creep over her face.

The ice retreated from where she put her hand over Murtagh’s chest. For the first time, the Red Rider tried to free himself from her grip, wanting to cradle and protect the thin, disappearing thread. “No, don’t! Stop!” Murtagh shouted. He closed his eyes, almost as if expecting pain.

None came, but the happiness inside him disappeared, as did Marzanna’s presence. He opened his eyes and saw Eragon holding his arm around her neck, her back pressed to his front. He looked torn, almost as if he regretted hurting her. Murtagh noted that for himself for later use.

“Hello to you, too, Eragon,” she stammered breathlessly. She tried to free herself from his grip, but he was stronger. When he did not answer, she continued, “I am glad to see you as well. You should have not come after me.”

As she finished the sentence, something came flying towards Eragon’s head from the darkness. It was stopped by his shields, but another few followed, and he felt as they drained his energy. As he tried to avoid them, his grip on her grew weaker, and she managed to escape. She stomped on his foot in the process, but staggered and fell on her behind.

Eragon used that time and copied his attackers. He hid in the shadows and used his hearing and night vision to slowly get closer to them. One Ra’zac carefully held the ice-statue, while the other held a crossbow and searched for him in the dark.

The Blue Rider used the moment of surprise and swung at the armed Ra’zac, It reacted with inhuman speed, blocking him with the crossbow. It continued to parry for a few seconds, until the crossbow broke into pieces, as it did not stand a chance against Brisingr. With nothing to protect himself, the Ra’zac was vulnerable.

Eragon prepared to cut off the Ra’zac’s head as it screeched loudly, almost deafening the Blue Rider. A white sword stopped the blue blade.

With a betrayed look, Eragon started at Marzanna, who watched him with a stone-cold mask, prepared to fight for the monsters’ lives. “How can you? They killed my family!” Eragon shouted, shocked. He still paid attention to his surroundings. He fully realized he was outnumbered.

Marzanna pushed against him with her full force, making him stagger. But he kept his balance, lifting his sword to block her attack. “You wouldn’t understand,” she grunted through clenched teeth. Eragon expected to be attacked by the Ra’zacs, but he noted Murtagh had freed himself and distracted both creatures.

The Blue Rider sadly noticed that both of them were dampening their attacks, reluctant to harm the other. Neither of them was advancing on the other. Eragon waited for her to lose concentration. And he did not have to wait long.

Murtagh was about to kill one of the Ra’zacs, when Marzanna looked in their direction with wild eyes. Suddenly, rime appeared beneath the Red Rider’s feet and he slipped, soon ready to attack again. “Run!” she shouted to the monsters. “Run, leave us!”

The Ra’zacs almost with holy obedience dropped the ice-statue and disappeared into the halls. Meanwhile Eragon used the moment to thrust the pommel of his sword into Marzanna’s belly, forcing an exhale out of her. She stumbled two steps back, directly into Murtagh’s arms.

The Red Rider pressed her tightly to himself with everything he had, stopping her struggling. He winced slightly, still privy to the pain he caused her somewhere in his chest. Everywhere their naked skin touched, cold spikes attacked his skin.

Before he could moan out in pain, Eragon jumped to them and with the pommel of his sword hit Marzanna in her temple, immediately sending her towards unconsciousness. At the same moment, Boreas stopped fighting Saphira and yielded to her with a low growl.

Immediately, the Blue Rider whipped out a strange white metallic headband and put it on her head. It was a perfect fit. Murtagh gave his brother a questioning look, but understood when the cold spikes retreated and seemingly melted away, just like the rime in front of them.

The Red Rider lifted Marzanna bridal-style, and Eragon took the ice-statue. Wordlessly, they followed the path down which the Ra’zacs had disappeared. The hall led them directly out of Dras-Leona. Both the Riders realized they had probably attracted attention, so they hurried to Helgrind, where Saphira waited hidden behind some rocks with Boreas grumpily behind her, not daring to fight and endanger his own Rider.

They decided to fly on Boreas, since Saphira wouldn’t be able to carry all four figures and keep an eye on the white dragon as well. The Blue Dragoness ended up carrying the ice-statue and Boreas carried Eragon. In front of him, Murtagh cradled Marzanna’s limp form to his chest. When she started to slowly come to, the Red Rider put his hand over her eyes and muttered, “Slytha,” and sent her to the land of dreams.

He expected to feel some satisfaction, but it instead reminded him more of how she had almost broken their bond and forced him asleep. Any happiness he felt turned to ash in his mouth.

Eragon watched the exchange with unease. “Could you stop touching her? It’s inappropriate,” he growled at Murtagh, who was caressing Marzanna’s face idly.

“Hm?” His older brother looked back at him. “Oh, I don’t know. You didn’t have a problem with this with Arya, did you?”

The Blue Rider forced back a snappy retort. He guiltily realized that Arya had not been on his mind at all lately. That alarmed him. She was the noble lady he was meant to be with, he recalled from Angela’s fortune. His eyes fell back to Marzanna and he swallowed.

Murtagh watched him with a knowing smirk on his face. Eragon scowled and answered, “That was different. She was hurt.”

“I am not so sure,” Murtagh replied, completely serious. “But she seems to be getting a fever.” He wiped off her forehead with his sleeve, looking genuinely worried.

His baby brother shot him a disbelieving look. “Come on. Don’t tell me the Lady of Winter is getting a  fever.”

Murtagh shrugged. After a pause, he retorted, “Anyway, I bet you envy me my ‘lady’s place’ now.”

Eragon felt even the tips of his ears go red. In this way they bickered the entire way to Ellesméra, trying to avoid the reality of the slowly deteriorating state of Marzanna.


	13. Winter Trial

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Beta-reader: Dragonblooded

“Vakna.” Wake up.

Nothing happened. A tense silence stretched over the room, interrupted by a harsh voice.

“Are you even trying?” Murtagh growled worriedly at Eragon. The Blue Rider shot him a hateful glare and returned his attention to the task at hand. He repeated the spell, with the same result. His older brother continued. “And they consider you capable of beating the king? You can’t even cast a simple spell. How do you expect to beat him?”

“Would you shut up?”

“No,” Murtagh murmured angrily, glaring up at Eragon. “If only you unsealed my magic, I could actually wake her up!”

Eragon inhaled slowly, trying to calm himself enough to perform the spell properly without killing his half-brother. He understood why Murtagh was bitter, but that didn’t make it any easier.

Unlike his younger brother, Murtagh was chained to the wall, barely able to move. His magic was sealed inside him, so he could not free himself and escape. When they arrived at Ellesméra, they were welcomed by a rather large group of elves, who immediately took Murtagh and Marzanna to prison cells and bound Boreas as well, so he wouldn’t destroy the elven capital in a matter of seconds.

Marzanna was still unconscious. If Eragon was honest with himself, she didn’t look healthy. She looked paler than usual, if that was even possible, and there was a layer of cold sweat covering her face. And she wouldn’t wake from her magic-induced sleep.

“Vakna!” This time he felt the spell happen, but the amount of energy it drained from him was alarming. The spell took so much he found himself on the verge of consciousness, sinking to his knees, which were not able to support him anymore.

Eragon noted the small movement of her eyes beneath her closed eyelids before she finally cracked them open. Her eyes took in her surroundings. Eventually, they settled on Eragon ,and the Blue Rider lost himself inside the coldest eyes he had ever seen.

The more he stared, the more he recalled every moment he had spent with her, until his mind showed him their last encounter. He clenched his teeth and his face hardened, tearing his gaze off of her. Eragon checked whether her shackles and little brightsteel crown were in place and collected himself from the ground.

“Fill her in,” he growled to his brother. “The trial is tomorrow.” And without a backwards glance, he left.

Marzanna watched the Blue Rider leave with a hint of regret on her face. If there were any creatures Eragon hated the most, it was the Ra’zacs, and she had protected them anyway. She had never meant to hurt him, but when their interests crossed, her logic took her this path.

Her entire body was bound, every limb and even her head locked in place, but she welcomed it. Her body felt so weak, as if she had been awake for all of the last few days. Even if her magic hadn’t been blocked by the brightsteel headband, she wouldn’t have been able to use it.

Every breath she took was harder than the one before. Every heartbeat drained a little too much energy from her near-empty supplies. The exhaustion slowly consuming her came from the bodily functions she needed to survive. A layer of sweat was forming on her paler-than-usual face. Her eyelids closed by themselves.

Somewhere in the back of her mind, she knew Murtagh was in the room with her, but she had no energy to spare for conversation.

The Red Rider wanted to be mad at her. She hurt his dragon, then stopped him from hating her for it by binding him to her with a spell. She made him addicted to her, and then took away his drug in the harshest way possible. The little thread still connected them together and Murtagh treasured it, scared that if he didn’t hold it tightly enough, it would disappear, and if he clutched it too tightly, it would break.

He realized he shouldn’t want to keep it. It was taking away his freedom, and that was something rare and precious to him. Yet, he was willing to throw it away just for her. Murtagh had never known how badly he wanted to love someone so unconditionally. There never was a person, besides his mother, who would get close enough for him to love. And then she came out of nowhere, quite literally.

His concern won over his pride. “Marzanna, what is wrong?” he asked directly, worry in his voice. She didn’t answer. The Red Rider waited for a minute, before he continued, “Please, I know you are not feeling well. I can sense it through our bond.” He knew he was on thin ice. Their bond was obviously a sensitive topic.

This seemed to get her attention. “Not now, please,” she exhaled heavily. It sounded as if every word pained her. Murtagh left it at that. His shackles weren’t as tight, so he was able to move closer to her.

He took her hand in his and gently squeezed. She stayed unresponsive, already in a deep slumber once again. Her closeness brought some relief to Murtagh’s tense muscles, but his mind stayed strained and filled with worry.

The entire night Murtagh did not dare close his eyes, scared that he might wake up to find Marzanna wouldn’t be there. It did not even strike him as odd that her hand was no longer cold.

_+BREAK+_

The Trial was about to take place, in the infamous Tialdarí Hall. Every time Eragon walked through this place, he felt at ease. This time, though, it was different. He bitterly remembered how torn he had been when Murtagh revealed his father was Morzan. It was either betraying your - at that time - loyal friend, or the Varden.

He was fighting for the Varden and the elves alike. He had even helped the elves capture Marzanna and Murtagh, knowing all too well to what he would be bringing them. Yet, he still felt incredibly guilty.

The hall was completely different today. The tree creating the entire building had been sung into a new shape. The room was now circular. Directly in the middle was an empty ring, with the only dominating element – a post in the centre – prepared for the judged. The tree formed a raised platform around the ring for other attendees to sit in. The further the tree benches were, the higher they reached. Almost half of the “court” was reserved for dragons.

Glaedr and Saphira were already there, keeping an eye on Boreas and Thorn. Despite the elven love for dragons, they had been forced to chain them down for their own safety. Threatening their Riders’ lives was not enough anymore.

On the other side of the dragons sat Queen Islanzadí with her lords and ladies. Däthedr and Arya sat next to her. A few rows above them, a lone person sat. They were far enough from the other elves to know they did not belong to the others, but still close enough to be part of the trial. Eragon walked up to Oromis and sat next to him.

To many Oromis would have appeared completely at peace. But Eragon had spent enough time with him to recognize the tension in his back, how the wrinkles around his eyes seemed to deepen with worry, how his lips sometimes seemingly twitched of their own accord.

Däthedr stood and waited for a few seconds until he gained everyone’s attention. When all was quiet, he said, “The trial of Murtagh Morzanson and Marzanna, daughter of none, shall begin. I am to be the spokesman. Islanzadí-Dröttning, please lead us.” With that, he sat down and his place was taken by the elven queen.

“Of all the nations in Alagaësia, our nation suffered the most at the claws of the dragons. During the war, the humans and dwarves were safe. During the Fall, the dragons fell the hardest, and with them, our warriors as well. Many were our close friends and family members. We tend to remember these two terrors, but we rarely speak of the monstrosities we have suffered from our neighbour the Winter Kingdom. This kingdom and king Galbatorix are two faces of the same evil. Only pain, anger, and sorrow grow while they rule. But for the first time in many years, we have a chance for justice, to take back a little bit of what was taken away from us.” She paused dramatically. All eyes were glued on her. “The representatives of both have been brought to us. We have a responsibility to our fallen ones, to our allies, and to ourselves, to decide correctly.” She sat and Däthedr stood once more, nodding to his Queen.

“Twelve lords and ladies have been chosen to be the jury. The Queen shall decide their punishment.” He waited a few seconds before he clapped thrice very slowly and sharply. From a small corridor in between the platforms emerged six elven guards, leading Murtagh in the front and Marzanna in the back, who staggered almost every step.

The Red Rider’s eyes immediately shot towards Thorn. Relief washed over his face. The Red Dragon growled in acknowledgement. Some elves stiffened warily. Marzanna did not lift her eyes from the ground, trying not to fall. Her face was even paler than before, especially in comparison with the dark circles which had formed beneath her eyes.

The guards led them both to the post, where they attached the chains on their hands. Despite the seal preventing them from using magic, there were still certain risks no one was willing to take.

“Murtagh, son of Morzan, you are charged with treason against the Varden, and, therefore, against their allies. Is there anything you would like to say in your defence?” asked Däthedr.

The Red Rider’s eyes lifted from the ground to the elves on the platforms above him. His hair obscured his face, hiding any anger he might have. For a while, it seemed as if he was stubborn enough to not defend himself at all, but then he spoke up. “I am neither guilty...nor innocent. I did not betray the Varden. I was forcibly brought to the King. He would have tortured me. But then Thorn hatched for me. Instead, the King chose to find our real names. My actions are not who I am or what I want. My actions are not my choice.”

One elven woman in the jury stood up. “We cannot base a ruling on anecdote. Do you have a way to prove it?”

It took Murtagh a few seconds before he realized what they meant. His features immediately hardened in suppressed fury. “I am not opening my mind to anyone. It is my last and only sanctuary. I am not letting you take it away from me.” If glances could kill, half of the jury would have been dead. “I can repeat it all in the ancient language.”

Another elf, this time male, rose. “We are not dumb, boy. We all know that there are loopholes in the ancient language. The truth you believe may be biased. Do not deny us evidence, for we can surely overpower you easily.”

Murtagh growled with Thorn, both of them prepared to fight. Däthedr motioned for the he-elf to sit. “Let us calm ourselves. Gieling-elda, if he is not willing to let us inside his mind, we will not force our way upon him. We will find other ways to persuade him. It is his fate which depends upon your decisions.”

He left a few minutes for the area to settle again. “Is there any other proof or witness to your actions?” Däthedr asked almost pleadingly. He was one of the few who was not biased against Murtagh. Despite the logic of the elven nation, most of them gave in to revenge, blaming Murtagh for the crimes of his father.

The Red Rider was silent for a while, carefully choosing his words. “Eragon Shadeslayer and Arya-Dröttningu were witnesses to my actions during the Battle of Farthen Dûr.”

Däthedr nodded to Arya, who stood without hesitation. “I cannot confirm or deny the intentions of Murtagh-vodhr. He saved me in Gil’ead, but would not have done so if not for Eragon. He fought bravely during the battle. I felt no sense that he might betray us. I cannot judge his actions after he was kidnapped.” With that, she sat down, and looked back to Däthedr indifferently.

After the next gesture from Däthedr, Eragon rose. With a heavy heart, he looked down to Murtagh. He felt the burning eyes on himself, not to mention Thorn’s. He spoke slowly, careful not to reveal too much. It was not his intention to get his half-brother into more trouble.

“Throughout all our travels, Murtagh had plenty of opportunities to betray me, to bring me to the king, yet he did not. Instead, on multiple occasions, he saved my life. Having him at my side gave me a sense of security. He was always loyal. I mourned him when I thought I had lost him. I mourn him even now, since I do not know the person he has become. I do not know the extent of his oaths, so I cannot judge him.” He sat down and felt a reassuring hand on his shoulder. Oromis gave him a weak smile, looking older than ever.

Däthedr nodded again. One of the jury members beckoned to him and whispered something. The elf nodded and inhaled deeply. “You are charged with murder of the dwarven king Hrothgar. How do you answer these charges? Was there an oath forcing you to do so?”

This seemed to throw Murtagh off. He nervously licked his lips and looked down again. “Yes.”

_LIE._

A voice made everyone’s mind tremble. It was as if an earthquake invaded their heads, making the solid ground beneath their feet crumble to dust with a single word. The only ones, who did not seem to notice anything were Boreas, Marzanna, Murtagh and Thorn. Their faces were marred with confusions.

A memory forced its way into Eragon’s mind and started playing inside his head. The same happened to Saphira.

_“I need you to try to capture Saphira and Eragon. Without them my plan is futile. This is the only task I am giving you. Do not fail me, or the consequences will be harsh. Understood?”_

_“Yes.”_

_“Swear it to me. Do not make me use your real name.”_

Murtagh’s voice made an oath in the ancient language.

The memory continued, showing every oath Murtagh had been forced to give, some of them mild, some of them terrible. When it ended, everyone except for the four excluded looked shocked and some even slightly disgusted when they looked at Murtagh. Only Islanzadí had a vicious smile plastered on her face.

“It seems to me that the eldunarí you had, Murtagh, are making a progress in their recovery.” Islanzadí was almost ecstatic to be the one to tell Murtagh thus.

One of the members of the jury stood up and looked to Däthedr. They had all been sharing their minds throughout the trial. “We know enough to see the reality clearly. We would like to commence with the sentencing.

Murtagh, son of Morzan, did not willingly betray our cause and as such, he cannot be punished for a choice which was not his own. Due to our alliance with dwarves, we must find him guilty of murder of the King Hrothgar. And in this extent, we must consider him a hazard to our cause and safety due to his oaths.”

Queen Islanzadí nodded in acknowledgement. “I agree with this decision. I suggest taking a life in exchange for a life. We cannot risk our alliance with the dwarves. Any minor mistake could be our downfall. Murtagh, son of Morzan, I sentence you to death.”

Eragon felt his heart stop. It seemed to him as if the entire world slowed down. Thorn’s angry growling and thrashing seemed to go quiet, and everything seemed to stop for just a second. He did not expect such a harsh sentence. The death penalty was the last thing he had expected. He thought the elven love for dragons would soften their hearts, and Murtagh would only be imprisoned until his oaths were broken.

Another Rider would have helped their cause. He might atone for his crimes. He was about to protest the ruling, when Oromis’ hand on his leg stopped him. He gave him an outraged look. So far Oromis had done nothing to help him. He knew Eragon did not want his half-brother dead. But the older Rider only shook his head.

Meanwhile, Thorn was pressed to the ground by Saphira and Glaedr, so enraged that the chains could barely contain him.

Däthedr said, “The execution will take place tomorrow, after everything has been settled. The Trial of Marzanna shall begin, now.”

“Marzanna, daughter of none, you are charged with the murder of fourteen warriors in the Battle of Gil’ead. You are suspected of being part of a terrible prophecy, and as such, you pose a risk to worldwide safety. Are you aware of your heritage or lineage?”

The ill-looking Marzanna looked up defiantly at Däthedr. Despite her deterioration, she was prepared to fight. “I do not remember killing any elves. I was told something of my lineage, but it does not mean anything to me, nor can I tell you whether it is true. The only family I have is Boreas, my brother Nar Garzhvog, and our parents,” she stated proudly, her voice unbroken. Some elves seemed shocked. The message an elf leading Urgals had not struck everyone yet.

Another member of jury got up and calmly but firmly asked, “Are you aware of the situation you are in? I am afraid there are only two outcomes. Either we prove you are the feared Thirteenth and declare you a danger to us all. Or, we find you to be a thief, who stole a dragon egg and a Rider’s sword. A crime like that cannot be left unpunished.”

“I did not steal anything. I do not remember where I found Boreas’ egg. I was merely a child when he hatched for me and marked me with a silver hand. The sword came with him.” Boreas was growling dangerously. Despite the chains, his size was intimidating. He was not as big as Glaedr, but he was much bigger than Thorn and Saphira combined.

Däthedr retook the lead. “Fourteen elves were killed in a snow storm, which erupted during the Battle of Gil’ead. They were frozen to death and shattered to pieces,” he whispered. It took him few seconds to continue. “You deny thievery, which leaves only one option. You are the Thirteenth. And this fact you cannot prove.”

“Yes.”

The entire court fell silent.

Light yet strong, purposeful steps were heard. From between the platforms appeared a well-known elf. She walked to Däthedr, who tried to exchange typical elven greetings with her. But she did not react. Exactly what Eragon would have expected from her.

“Rhünon-elde, we have asked you to come here to help us identify a weapon.” Däthedr walked to a table hidden behind some branches. There lay the dead ice-form of Boreas, Marzanna’s sword, Zar’roc, and some smaller things which had belonged to those two. The elf took the white sword and brought it to Rhünon, who took it with ease of someone who knows exactly what they are doing. She swung it around for a while and then started inspecting it. Her fingers glided skilfully over the sheath, hilt, and pommel, absorbing all the details.

Shock and admiration entered her eyes. Eragon remembered seeing that expression once before, for only a fragment of second: when Rhünon had met Zar’roc again. This pure, unadulterated admiration had been destroyed then by the crimson sword’s bloody history. The white sword did not seem to have one so far.

When Däthedr reached for the sword, it almost seemed as though Rhünon would not let go of it, but eventually she reluctantly handed it over.

“Of course I recognize this sword. I would consider it more valuable than my own firstborn.” That earned shocked gasps from the elven audience. “This sword is called Íssbrandr – Snow Blade. I made it specifically for Eragon I. in the colour of his dragon – white. Like untouched snow. It is my masterpiece. There is nothing about it I would have done differently, if I was given the choice.” Her voice softened as she spoke about her beloved weapon.

“I thought it was lost to me,” she admitted. “There are various protective spells on it. If Eragon I. had ever dropped Íssbrandr, and anyone should try to use it against him, they would find themselves missing a hand hand, for it would freeze off.”

“Do you know its fate, after Eragon I. lost it?” asked Däthedr.

“I believed it was left in Norvedrgarde as part of the Winter Kingdom’s culture,” she said. Instantly, almost as if ashamed to have revealed too much, her face hardened again into the impenetrable mask Eragon had always known. Däthedr thanked Rhünon and released her.

Oromis leaned towards Eragon and whispered, “When Lilith left Norvedrgarde, the city locked itself shut, so that only those with the magic of their line could open it. No one could leave, no one could enter. I believe a few elves stayed there. It is hard to say where their end is.”

Eragon blinked, confused. “Meaning, if the sword was there, the person...who retrieved it...is truly the heir.” Oromis nodded and leaned back, listening to the trial. His face tensed again, and Eragon noticed that, for the first time, the elf actually looked nervous.

One rare elderly-looking member of the jury stood. He sighed heavily. It almost looked as if he regretted having to speak at all. “I...I do not believe the egg was stolen.”

Oromis again whispered into Eragon’s ear, “Raefiler-elda is one of the oldest spell-casters we have. He is one of the few who know more about magic than I do. He is not as strong as he once wase, but his wisdom is far more valuable.”

“I was the one entrusted to charm the chosen dragon eggs, so the dragons would hatch only if they met their Rider. I remember only one other white egg in all my years, and I believe we have him here today.” He looked over to Boreas almost adoringly. “Just like Oriona and Eragon I. fell in love, their dragons took a liking to each other as well. A steely grey dragoness and a snow white dragon. They created only one egg, white, later given to Eragon I. It was thought to have disappeared with him. I believe now it is safe to assume it was left in Norvedrgarde. And it seems that Riders run in the family.” The elf turned around and smiled at Eragon. He winked at Oromis, whose eyes hardened.

There was a deafening silence, disturbed by the same member of jury who had judged Murtagh. “If we rule out the impossible, the most probable option left is to assume you are the Thirteenth. With all respect to our fourteen fallen friends, this proves you are even more of a danger to us.”

Queen Islanzadí nodded. “Marzanna, successor of Lilith, in the name of greater good, I sentence you to death as well. No one with such power should be allowed to walk this world.”

“No!” Murtagh and Eragon shouted. Boreas started growling. Instead of fire lashing out of his nostrils, there was white icy fog.

“All right. I agree with your decision!” whispered Marzanna, her strength quickly fading. Despite its weakness, her voice cut through the noise like a knife through butter. “But with all due respect, your Majesty,” she said mockingly, “When you accepted alliance with my Urgals and Kulls and I, you also agreed to respect our traditions. We base everything on glory in battle, and honour from fights. We rarely take prisoners, but when we do, they are ours until we release them, or until our or their last breath. If a captor becomes a prisoner himself, his captured still belongs to him. Murtagh is not yours to judge. He would have been yours if I died without deciding what to do with him. But since I have so many witnesses here, I release Murtagh completely. The oath you gave me should force you to do so. Of course, I was told of the loopholes in the ancient language. But what queen would you be, if we cannot trust your word?”

With a vicious smile on her face, Marzanna trembled, her eyes rolled upwards and she fainted.


	14. Equinox

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Beta-reader: Dragonblooded

As Marzanna’s body fell to the ground, chaos ensued.

Eragon and Oromis jumped to their feet immediately and rushed forward in an attempt to help her. The Blue Rider was quickly sent to the ground by a branch against his calves. It never broke Oromis’ shields, but the exertion triggered a seizure and sent him to the ground anyway.

When Eragon came to his senses, he saw Arya standing above him. “You cannot approach her. It could be a trap.” There was a mixture of regret and determination in her eyes. She knelt next to Oromis to make sure he would not hurt himself further. Eragon massaged the sore spots he had just earned while he tried to make a sense of what was happening.

Murtagh was shouting desperately, the fear in his voice almost palpable. The chains around his hands forbade him from catching her, from even touching her as she fell away from his reach.

Not even the dragons were spared from the chaos. Boreas, naturally, fought against his chains, and the combined efforts of Glaedr and Saphira. Despite being outnumbered - and smaller than Glaedr - he gave them a hard time. What a dragon wouldn’t do for his Rider. Of course, Thorn seized the chance and attacked Saphira. He would not dare to aim for Glaedr.

Some elves from the audience and jury stood up reflexively, wanting to help, but were stopped before they even lifted their feet from the ground. Queen Islanzadí shouted an order against even nearing the fighting. Some tried to protest, but one look from the elven queen made them mute.

Then, suddenly, there was a heavy silence.

Boreas went completely rigid. The body behind Däthedr sat up. Before anyone realized what was happening, Boreas’ ice-form jumped off of the table and ran towards his Rider. He immediately fell to the ground next to Marzanna and lifted her gently into his icy arms, pressing her to his chest. He removed the brightsteel headband from her head, ignoring the crowd of elves prepared to fight him.

“You idiots!” he screamed at them, outraged. “You could have killed her! You could have killed my Rider! She needs her powers to live, and you took them away from her!”

“And let her kill us all?” Arya asked angrily. “She could live without them before. Why not now?”

“If she dies, I do not care about Galbatorix, or your allies, or anyone. I will kill you all.” There was no anger when he spoke. It was calm and firm, the tone matching his ice-like voice. “She was not always part ice. What happens to ice if you heat it up?”

There was a tense silence.

Queen Islanzadí continued where her daughter had left off. “She has been sentenced to death anyway. You only change the means.”

Meanwhile, Eragon helped Oromis back to his feet, supporting him slightly in the wake of his sickness.

“Däthedr-elda,” Oromis started. All eyes turned on him. “I believe there is a law I would like to invoke. I am willing to take Marzanna’s punishment.”

“What? Oromis-elde, do not be ridiculous. There would be no point in judging her if anyone could take her punishment. I would not allow such a thing anyway,” said the Queen.

Oromis smiled weakly and sadly at the same time. “I am afraid, Islanzadí-Dröttning, that is not for you to decide. There was a law written when we made a pact with the dragons, and the number of our children decreased. We valued them above anything, and as such, we wrote a law that gave them higher protection. If Arya was being punished, you would be allowed to take her sentence instead.”

“Yes, but only because she is… oh.” A shocked expression settled on Islanzadí’s face. She staggered few steps back, further from Oromis.

It took Däthedr a few seconds to speak up. “Oromis-elda, are you implying Skölir Dautr? That is only legal if...if she….” He gulped his last few words down nervously.

“I do. I do not doubt she is my child.”

Eragon thought he had heard wrong. Now, when he looked at Oromis, he did not see the flawless elf he had seen just this morning. He had always believed Oromis’ path through life was always clear, free of mistakes. But if what he implied was true, then even the wisest Rider alive was flawed.

Yet, it made Eragon feel closer to Oromis to know this, as if this flaw made him more real and reachable than before.

The elf called Raefiler interrupted the conversation. “Now is not the time to make decisions. Now should be a time for father and daughter to reunite, after Marzanna feels well again. And perhaps take Murtagh with you. We cannot let him go. He still belongs to Marzanna. I trust we will come to a better agreement the next time we meet.”

Islanzadí shot Raefiler a look of disbelief, about to protest, but Raefiler without waiting for his Queen had already turned and walked away.

“You will find us all at the Crags of Tel’naeir,” Oromis said.

_+BREAK+_

If anyone looked up to the sky, they would have believed the old times were back, when dragons ruled the lands and skies. One moment the air above Ellesmér was spotted with birds, then all of a sudden, the sunlight disappeared behind the wings of dragons. A blue dragoness led the pack and a golden dragon closed it, keeping an eye on the two dragons in the middle.

 _She is not looking any better. She is getting worse._ Eragon said to Saphira as he desperately clutched Marzanna to his chest, worried he might drop her. Even though it seemed impossible, they had convinced Boreas to let go of her so they could relocate her to the Crags of Tel’naeir. Eragon had been chosen to carry her, since Boreas did not like or trust Murtagh, for some odd reason. Not that anyone trusted him with her, but Boreas was the only one to say so aloud.

Saphira was silent for a while, looking through Eragon’s mind at Marzanna. _No, she really isn’t. Didn’t Boreas say it was due to the brightsteel?_

Eragon nervously bit his lip. Marzanna’s hair did not look like a freshly fallen snow anymore; it had lost its shine. Her face was extremely pale and reminded him more of ash now. It was as if snow was melting in Eragon’s arms. He lifted his arm and gently glided with fingers over Marzanna’s cheek.

With a shocked gasp, he pulled his hand away. Where he touched her, her skin had cracked, like a porcelain pot handled a little too roughly. Small gaps were spreading across her cheek, reminding him of a spider’s web. Eragon tried to sit completely still, to prevent the cracks from expanding, but it was for nothing.

“We need to hurry up!” He shouted to Saphira, not realized he said it aloud as well. Sending agreement to him through their bond, Saphira sped up.

 _Try to use a spell on her,_ Saphira encouraged, feeling his distress.

 _What should I use? I do not know how to treat this. I should let Oromis take a look at her._ Eragon was reminded again of the power of the ancient language, as the situation with Elva came back to him.

_We cannot let her die. I am not a specialist in humans or elves, but she looks almost dead._

To that, Eragon could not say anything. He lifted his hand again, this time careful not to touch her even slightly. He moved as little as he could. “Waíse heil,” he said, holding his gedwëy ignasia above the wound.

He waited for a few seconds, but nothing happened, the cracks now reaching over her chin and part of her neck. He tried some more healing spells Oromis had taught him, but nothing seemed to work. _Try a freezing spell,_ Saphira said.

Eragon, who was becoming very nervous, did not dare question her idea. He dug inside his head for proper words. “Kaela frösa.” A white mist descended from his palm onto Marzanna’s damaged face and formed a sort of plaster above the cracks. A rime seemed to fix the cracks and stop them from spreading, but it did not make them disappear.

“Well, that’s sorted for now.”

Soon, all four dragons landed in front of Oromis’ hut. The older elf only nodded to Glaedr and quickly, but carefully slid from his back to the ground. The golden dragon growled at Thorn to follow him with Murtagh.

With a few quick strides, Oromis was standing beside Saphira. Despite his best efforts to hide it, Eragon could still see traces of guilt and worry marring his face. The Blue Rider still did not dare to move and only explained the situation to the older elf.

Eventually, they managed to get Eragon on his own feet with Marzanna still in his arms. The cracks had appeared on more of her body, the landing not easy on her. Oromis turned to Boreas, who watched them with a suspicious glare, prepared to attack them both should they cause her more harm.

“Eragon, bring Marzanna into my bedroom. She can stay in my bed. There is a window on the other side of the house. I know I do not command you, Boreas, but I need you to cool her down, and I know you have exactly the ability to do so,” Oromis said firmly.

Soon, Marzanna was lying under a duvet of ice and snow, exaggerating her paleness. Rime was tangled inside her hair, turning it into icicles. Boreas was lying behind the hut in his dragon form. From time to time, he breathed more cold air into the room.

Neither Eragon nor Oromis dared leave her side. No one knew if she would make it. They sat in opposite corners, furthest from the ice tor. The Blue Rider was drowning in his sorrow, as it reminded him of the tor he had created for his father. He was struck by memory after memory of the time he had spent in the presence of his own father, not even knowing it was him. Many times in the last few months, Brom’s advice had saved his life. Sometimes, he tried to analyse situations based on what Brom would do.

He, Murtagh, and Marzanna were from the same generation of Riders: the generation after the Fall. His half-brother was unlucky enough to know his father, but at least when Thorn hatched for him, there was someone experienced there to teach him basic things. Eragon was lucky enough to know his father, but unlucky enough to not know him in that way. When he looked back at his journey, he would hardly have made it without him. And Marzanna was lucky enough to have her father still alive, but when Boreas had hatched for her, she was alone.

For the first time in many months, he did not feel as if the weight of the world was resting on only his shoulders. His anger at Marzanna because of the Ra’zacs had not vanished, though. It was just pushed behind the fear for her life, and it made him realize that he still cared for her.

The Blue Rider looked to his Master. Never had he seen Oromis so devastated. He sat on a small chair with his head clutched between his hands, his face a display of many emotions. Guilt and pain were ever present, laced with fear, but the main string was played by regret.

“Why didn’t you tell me?” asked Eragon, betrayed. He had kept no secrets from Oromis, while he had been constantly kept in the dark. Deep down, he knew he should not salt his wounded master master, but he could not help himself.

A broken gasp escaped Oromis at his words. He opened his mouth to scold Eragon for his rudeness, but then stopped himself, instead releasing a deep sigh. “I did not know, Eragon. Not for long.”

The Blue Rider waited a few seconds, hoping his master would continue. He did not want to pry, but at the same time planned to make Oromis speak more. He got up and disappeared outside for a few seconds.

When he returned, he was holding the book Oromis had given him some time ago. He sat back down and fished out the fairth of Lilith. Looking at it now from a new perspective gave it another dimension. If one knew what to search for, there were similarities between it and Marzanna. They looked more alike than they looked different. Where they were not similar, he could see Oromis’ features without doubt.

Now he could also see that the fairth had been created by someone who loved Lilith. Eragon shook his head in disbelief. How could he overlook so many things?

Once he was finished with his inspection, he handed to fairth to Oromis, who took it with shaking hands. When the elf’s eyes fell on it, a bitter laughter escaped his lips. For a few minutes, there was a complete silence, Oromis’ eyes glued to it.

“I only realized the truth during the Battle of Gil’ead. Like the others, I believed the prophecy was no more. The Thirteenth Queen had given her life for mine, so I thought.” Eragon did not have to be brilliant to know how difficult it was for his Master to speak about it.

“Most of her life Lilith spent with me. She had no child. I was so sure I would know if she did. But the moment I saw, when the snow storm spread from one person through the battlefield, I realized how blind I had been. I saw a young Lilith when I first laid my eyes on my own daughter.” Oromis’ eyes snapped to the ice tor. Eragon did not dare interrupt, scared he might never hear the end if he did.

“Lilith was an extraordinary person. Everyone feared her, yet she gave them no reason to. Since her mother was a well-respected member of the Riders, Islanzadí did not dare sentence Lilith to death, which would have avoided the mess with the prophecy. Instead, she was entrusted to me, so I could keep an eye on her.” A sad smile appeared on Oromis’ face as he started to remember.

For a few moments, there was a deafening silence. Oromis’ voice cracked as he began. “She was an odd one. No one understood her, because no one even looked beneath the surface. She was a dreamer, always saw more than others, and always knew more than she was supposed to know. After a while, I began to understand her. In the end, she was with me almost constantly. Sometimes, when I was teaching new Riders, she was sitting there with me, lost in her own world. I believe Brom and Morzan met her as well.” Oromis’ fingers gently slid over the fairth in his hand, almost worried his touch might distort it.

“Eventually, I fell for her. I tried to deny it - it was wrong on so many levels - but it was stronger than me. And it was mutual. That is something incredibly hard to fight. When the Fall was near and I was needed, I sent her to Norvedrgarde in order to protect her. In the end, it was the only place where no one else could get. I did not see her for an entire year. I was certain I would never see her again, until Glaedr, Brom, and I were trying to fight our way out of the Spine. Out of nowhere, she appeared with that horrific crown on her head.” Oromis voice broke at that moment. “I did not even get a chance to say anything to her before she sacrificed herself. She did not even say we had a daughter.” A sob escaped his Master and a tear fell onto the fairth, sliding harmlessly from its surface to the ground.

Eragon opened his mouth to ask, but Oromis immediately interrupted him. “Am I certain she is mine? I am. The time is fitting, and I can see my family’s features in her. And as Raefiler said, Riders tend to appear in the same families. Glaedr mentioned that she smells somewhat like me.” A small smile formed on his face.

It took Eragon a few minutes to process everything Oromis had told him. He nodded and rubbed his eyes.

“What will happen now?”

“You never ask easy questions, Eragon. I do not believe Islanzadí will have me executed instead of my daughter. We will have to offer her a different deal, though. If Marzanna does not improve, I will dedicate my days and nights to healing her. You must understand, she is all I have left of Lilith.”

“I would not expect it any other way. If you allow me, Ebrithil, I would like to offer my help,” Eragon said.

The wrinkles around Oromis’ eyes seemed to deepen. “I should not allow you to distract yourself any further. But I am glad for your offer. I may need it.” Eragon looked from his master to Marzanna. She was not getting any better, but it was not getting any worse.

“If her recovery is successful, then I will try to free Murtagh of his vows and train all of you, as a future generation of Riders.”

_+BREAK+_

For the next few days, Oromis did not leave Marzanna’s side. Eragon had to leave from time to time to satisfy his humanly needs, and to take a look at Murtagh.

The Red Rider was obviously making up for the lost time with Thorn. Yet, it never stopped him from asking Eragon about Marzanna, since he did not dare approach her because of Oromis. The answer to his questions was always the same. Nothing was changing.

Saphira and Glaedr created a shifts system where one slept or hunted and the other kept an eye on Boreas and Thorn. Boreas did not leave Marzanna for a second, not even to hunt. He barely slept, but was always ready to lower the temperature inside the room. His ice-body lay lifelessly outside.  

Eragon watched helplessly as Oromis’ state quickly deteriorated due to sleepless nights and days of worry and despair. One day, when Eragon returned from his errands, carrying a tray with water and some cheese and berries, he saw him sleep for the first time as exhaustion overpowered him. Quietly, he laid the tray on a table next to Oromis.

He was about to turn and leave when he noticed something. On the surface of the water, an icy upper layer formed. It slowly started deepening, freezing the entire bowl. He gasped, and his breathed turned to white mist in front of his face. The air around him started to reach colder and colder levels. Particles of water flying around the room started to freeze and turn into crystals of ice, sparkling in their flight.

A snowflake landed on Eragon’s nose and instead of melting, it kept its shape until he wiped it off. He was amazed.

His musings were interrupted by a raspy inhale. His eyes immediately shot to Marzanna. Her ice-cold eyes slowly cracked open. 


	15. Ice-cold Acceptance

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Beta-reader: Dragonblooded

The room was too bright; the ice reflected the outdoor’s daylight. Marzanna was forced to close her eyes. Eragon did not realize he had stopped breathing, scared he might break the illusion.

For few a minutes, nothing happened. No one moved, and no one spoke. It almost seemed as if time had stopped there. The only thing that indicated time was actually moving were the tiny frozen molecules of water flying freely in the air.

After a while, Eragon was not even sure of what he had seen. He silently walked towards Marzanna’s bed.

She was buried under a ridiculous amount of ice and snow, but her face was clearly visible. The cracking on her cheek and chin had disappeared, but left behind white lines, like thin, precise scars. Guilt washed over him; it was undeniably his fault that this had happened to her.

He glided the pad of his thumb over her cheek, but before he finished the movement, he was forced backwards with a loud yelp as Marzanna’s arm shot forward and hit Eragon’s nose, effectively breaking it.

“Ouch!” Eragon yelped, immediately covering his nose between his hands, trying to stop the bleeding. Then, a few things happened at the same time.

 _Eragon!_ A shout came from within his mind as Saphira started to panic. He got flashes of her thoughts. She was prepared to tear Oromis’ house to pieces. He told her what had happened and assured her that he was alright.

A loud rumbling reached Eragon’s ears. It reminded him of a moving mountain. Suddenly, the view from the only window in the room was blocked by a huge white-silver iris. Boreas was awake.

Oromis’ eyes immediately shot open and searched without hesitation for his daughter’s bed, but he could not see through Eragon. He then noticed what had happened, but before he was even able to get up, Murtagh barged in.

The Red Rider had a strange mixture of excitement and nervousness glued on his face. He blurted, “I can feel her.” He pushed past Eragon - not caring about his state - to Marzanna’s bed and fell to his knees beside her.

Her eyes stayed closed, but when Murtagh took her hand in his and squeezed, she returned it. A joyful smile appeared on the Red Rider’s face. “You’re back. You’re back,” he kept whispering happily as he felt the thread around his heart strengthen, the empty feeling washing away.

Oromis helped Eragon fix his nose before they both turned to the pair. Eragon approached Marzanna very carefully this time. His eyes fell to her other hand, which had hit him, and which now rested over her belly. Slowly, he took hold of it in his to ensure she wouldn’t hit him again. Oromis did not dare go any closer.

“Marzanna?” asked the Blue Rider.

Her eyes opened slowly to adjust to the light. For a while, they wandered over the room, taking in any details she found interesting. In the end, they fell to Eragon, who had blood still smeared over his face. “I am sorry,” she breathed out upon the realization.

Eragon just smiled back reassuringly. “I tend to forget you used to be a commander. I should have been more careful.”

Marzanna tried to sit up, but Murtagh’s hand pressed against her chest stopped her. He pushed her back, shaking his head. “You are not getting up. I am not prepared to worry for your health again anytime soon. For a while I was certain we would lose you.”

She was silent for a while, but did not fight against Murtagh’s hand. “I do not think it would matter, since I am still being sentenced to death, am I not?” Her eyes snapped to Oromis and measured him suspiciously. “I assume he is here for that?”

“What? No! He is your…-“ Eragon cut himself off in time. Any other words he could use to mask his slip fell out of his grasp. Marzanna was looking at him curiously. She opened her mouth to ask, but Oromis saved him.

“I am your new teacher.” He exchanged a warning look with Eragon. “We still need to come to an agreement with Islanzadí, but I am willing and prepared to take you all as my apprentices.”

Murtagh turned disbelievingly to Oromis. With a bitter laughter he asked, “What? You really think that elven bitch will let us slip through her fingers? And anyway, you do not even know if I want to fight for your cause. I agree with some of the things the king said.”

Oromis did not seem thrown. It was as if he had expected Murtagh’s protests. “It is not like my… Marzanna gave her many options. She won’t be executing me either.”

He paused for a while and then directly addressed Murtagh. “You have more than one option. Once we break your vows to Galbatorix, you are welcome to join our cause and fight with us against him. Or, you can be my apprentice, but not join the battle. If we lose, you are free to leave, go anywhere you want. If we win, but the victory costs the rest of us our lives, you will be the only one there to educate the Green Rider. I believe, you understand, that we cannot let you leave anytime soon.”

Murtagh nodded after a while. “And I believe I can solve a part of this problem for you. About the vows…I do not feel obligated to them anymore, since Marzanna put that spell on me.” With that, he squeezed her hand, and she looked at him in surprise.

“How?” asked Eragon disbelievingly.

“There is a conflict of interests. The main purpose of the spell is not to harm Marzanna in any way, which includes even minor things. I do not understand it completely, but the vows, which are still inside of me, all would eventually bring Marzanna harm, one way or another. I would be forced to act upon the vows, but the spell is stronger and defeats them,” explained Murtagh uncertainly.

“They still need to break the vows, because I plan to remove the spell. This time completely.” Marzanna frowned at his revelation and tried to pull her hand away from Murtagh’s, who only squeezed it harder. They both winced in pain.

He let go of her hand. His expression hardened. He said only, “It is not only your decision anymore. We will talk about this later.”

Marzanna was prepared to argue with him, but Oromis interrupted her. “I would like you to be my apprentice as well. Queen Islanzadí and the other elves who know about the prophecy, won’t take to the idea of you being freed. They might agree, however, to you becoming my charge. Just like your mother was.” He paused for a while, unsure of how to continue. “You were fighting for our cause before. Your powers would be incredibly helpful.”

“I do not care about some bloody prophecy. I was able to live without it for a hundred years, and I really do not understand why my entire life suddenly seems to revolve around it. I really have no intentions of becoming some damned Thirteenth,” she spat angrily. She looked out of the window into her dragon’s eye. Some mental communication took place. After a few long minutes of tensed silence, she spoke up. “But, we agree to learn more, under the condition that we will be allowed to return to my people, and that the Urgals will receive the land they were promised.”

Oromis’ lips tightened into a line, but he slowly nodded. “That could be arranged.” He motioned for Eragon and Murtagh to leave the room. “I believe we depleted today’s time for small talk. Marzanna needs more rest. And I have some arrangements to make.”

_+BREAK+_

The first light of sunrise was dispersed within the droplets of morning dew into a full spectrum of colours. The morning was cold in a way which suggested an especially warm day for that time of year. The slow process of nature’s waking was quickened by an earthshattering snoring alternating between four dragons.

Oromis was already sitting in front of his hut with an untouched plate of cheese, almond bread, and grapes. His entire attention seemed to be dedicated to the piece of parchment in front of him. His hand glided over it with a tip of a quill, dipped in dark blue ink. With every stroke, the elf gave life to a pair of birds.

 _Little one, you do not have to bear this burden alone,_ a loud rumbling mind spoke inside of his. Despite the size and volume, its presence was comforting. It wrapped around his consciousness like a soft, protective blanket.

Oromis did not change his posture, but his eyes were suddenly distant. His mind pressed itself deeper into Glaedr’s. Both were laced within each other. Neither could tell where one began and the other ended. _I know, but thank you for your reassurance. It means a lot to me. I still feel guilty. You had tried to stop me from falling for Lilith. To no avail._

Glaedr snorted. _If you had listened to me, we would both be dead. We all knew Lilith did not belong here. She was born for a different world. But it was necessary for her to pass through ours, and you made it bearable for her. Now, she is in the right place. With them._

Oromis was silent for a while, memories flashing in the background of his mind, all filled with a certain almost white-haired elf. _I cannot stop thinking about it. She never properly met her, our daughter. She gave her life for mine, but I did not dedicate my life to our daughter. I left her with no one. And I am afraid she will not accept me._

Both were silent for a while, before Glaedr said, _Boreas is an arrogant midget, but he is protective and caring. She had him. Now, she will have you. Whether she accepts you or not, you will be there for her._ Before he could continue, they were interrupted.

“Oromis-elde.” A cold voice entered the scene. It took a few seconds for Oromis to separate himself from Glaedr, whose full attention was on the intruder. He could feel Glaedr’s discomfort with their silent approach. Oromis’ eyes focused on the parchment, and he carefully finished a line before he looked up.

“Islanzadí-Dröttning,” he welcomed her. There was a tense silence between them before the queen started with the proper elven greetings, showing Oromis respect. Before his former affair was brought to light, she had thought higher of him. She would not have hesitated in greeting him first.

She stood there proudly with her blood-red cape thrown over her shoulders. “You sent a message about a certain bargain we should make. I believe I am not going to be satisfied with the result, yet I am here. So do not waste more of my time, Shur’tugal. I am needed elsewhere.”

Oromis nodded sternly. He looked up to Glaedr, who growled and stomped his back right foot on the ground, making some stones jump into the air, effectively waking up everyone nearby.

“I offered them all apprenticeship,” said the silver-haired elf simply. His voice was accompanied by sounds from his hut as those who had slept there over before Glaedr woke them prepared themselves to go out.

“What?! Are you serious? _He_ is son of one of the Wyrdfell, tied to the king. And _she_ is a walking apocalypse,” said the Queen, clearly outraged. As she spoke, the inhabitants of the hut started to filter out.

The silver-haired elf waited for everyone to emerge before he continued. “Yes, I am completely serious. Murtagh is not his father, and his ties to the king have been somewhat severed. And Marzanna does not aim to become the Thirteenth. Both of them would be a great help against Galbatorix, who we know is a threat by his own choice. And both of them are Riders, and they should be trained as such.”

The queen’s disbelieving face broke as she cackled. “History tends to repeat itself, Oromis-elda. You really want to train the offspring of Brom and Morzan at the same time, while looking after Lilith’s?  Oh, forgive me. While looking after your _own_ offspring,” she said with a cruelly twisted smile on her face.

With joy, she watched as her statement made a very slow but hard impact. It was obvious Oromis hoped Marzanna would not notice it, but an uncertain realization started to work its way onto her face.

As if to solidify it, the queen continued. “My council and I trusted you with Lilith and look where it ended.” She highlighted her last words with a nod towards Marzanna. “You do not think I would trust you with the Thirteenth again?”

Oromis’ jaw tensed as he listened to Islanzadí. He carefully looked towards his daughter, unsure of what to say after such revelation.

But there she stood, completely still, with a neutral expression glued on her face. Her ice-cold eyes did not give away a single thought. She looked towards Oromis and stared at him for a few long seconds. “I believe,” she said slowly and carefully, “That is a conversation for a more appropriate time.”

Oromis blinked a few times, trying to shake off the stillness. “I-I agree.” Then, he focused back on the queen. “Well, then we have a conflict of interests. Unless you plan to execute me, theirs are not your fates to decide. I am not stepping back from my decision to carry Marzanna’s punishment.”

The queen measured him angrily for a while before she said slowly through clenched teeth. “I will let you keep Morzan’s spawn if you give me a proof he is a not a spy.”

After a few debates, Eragon watched as Murtagh swore with anger lashing out of his eyes that he did not feel tied by oaths to Galbatorix, so long as he was tied to Marzanna. The queen made him change his wording so as to avoid loopholes in the Ancient Language, but in the end, she was satisfied with the result.

Then, she looked towards Marzanna, who eyed her with the same distasteful look. “I can swear an oath as well. I have no intention of becoming the Thirteenth. As I have said many times before, all I want is to end the reign of Galbatorix, and give land to my people. Or, to those who are still left,” Marzanna said, her voice laced with pain.

The queen eventually nodded, although it was obvious she did not think that sufficient. As Marzanna stepped forward, closer to the queen, her ice-cold hand wrapped around Eragon’s wrist and pulled him along. The Blue Rider staggered, but eventually matched Marzanna’s walk.

Soon, he understood his role. Marzanna did not know the Ancient Language, and did not trust Islanzadí, nor Oromis, nor Murtagh enough to let them help her with the oath.

And so Eragon watched as Marzanna sealed her fate.

Before the queen left, she turned and said, “ _He_ may live where Morzan once lived. But _she_ will stay here with you, Oromis-vodhr, and she is not to enter Ellesméra. Eragon, you will live where you have before. She also cannot be left unsupervised. I trust that you, Eragon, will help Oromis with that.” And then she disappeared.

Despite the queen’s exit, the tension remained. Marzanna and Oromis slowly turned to each other, while Eragon and Murtagh tried to slowly disappear from sight, but not from within earshot.

Neither of them spoke, both hesitant to start. Oromis gulped visibly and he opened his mouth a few times to speak, but always, it was as if the words disappeared from the surface of his tongue. Eventually, it was Marzanna, who broke the silence.

“You could have told me earlier. You should have,” she said. Her voice was surprisingly balanced.

Oromis lowered his eyes for a while before he finally found the courage to begin. “There never seemed to be a good moment. I planned to tell you today.”

“Planning is just thought. Thought is not action. Only actions speak loud enough,” she said coldly, disregarding Oromis’ state.

He gaped at her for a while. His brain could not connect his thoughts. There were so many things he wanted to tell her, yet he could not voice any out loud. To Eragon, his Ebrithil suddenly looked so old and tired, beaten by life.

And Marzanna kept beating him more and more. “But no matter who told me, the result would be the same.” A spark of hope appeared in Oromis’ eyes, but was immediately suffocated. “You are nothing but a stranger to me. All I owe you is thanks for saving my life, and for giving me it. But besides a donor of a few features, you are still a stranger, and now a Master. There it ends.”

Oromis seemed completely thrown by her answer. “Please, Marzanna, before you shun me, let me explain myself.” His daughter only silently nodded. “I loved your mother. I would gladly have given my life for hers, but fate did not wish that for us. I was never told we had a daughter. If I had been, I would have look for you everywhere. Please, do not take away my chance to at least try to be a father to you,” he begged.

Marzanna’s face was a stone-cold mask, completely impenetrable. By a nod, she acknowledged it, only shrugging. “I understand as much as I can. But I do not need a father figure. I already have one. I have loving parents, for who I fight, so they can live safely. And I have a loving brother, who used to fight with me by his side. They mean the world to me. All I can give you is the time before we conquer Galbatorix. And that time will be one of an apprentice to his teacher.”

The silver-haired elf swallowed. It took him a few seconds to collect himself. Eventually, he slowly nodded, and with a stare stabbed at the ground, he said, “If that’s the only way I can be in your life, then so be it.” Slowly, he got up and started to walk towards Glaedr. “Keep the room.” Then he looked to Eragon and Murtagh, who stood there stunned. “Tomorrow I expect all of you here one hour after sunrise. We need to start with our lessons.”

And soon, all three of them watched as a golden dragon took off from the ground. Slowly, his huge silhouette disappeared into the distance.

No one dared say a word.


	16. Interludium - The Nightmare Queen

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Beta reader: Dragonblooded

For some time the world remained hidden underneath a veil of night. For most, this was time of rest and peace. The few who did not relax were thieves, who seized the chance to hide in the darkness the long night offered.

But there was a place different than the rest. The capital of the Winter Kingdom was always different. There for many years with a firm hand ruled the infamous and feared Night Queen. The city did not live until after sunset.

No one would find it strange to see a person in all black crawling across the ramparts and running over castle towers. This person seemed so certain running over narrow edges that anyone would realize it was not the first occasion of such.

They moved so quickly and quietly through the night, it almost seemed as if they ran away from something. Someone.

As they jumped from one rooftop to another, a few meters behind them another person landed, quickly following in the shadow of the former. As the first one tried to speed up, they staggered and it seemed they would fall off the edge, directly into the arms of death.

“Caught again, Mara!” Arms wrapped around her. He almost purred her name into her ear as he brought her closer to him, further from the edge.

As her breathing started to slow down, Mara rested her body in his warm arms, chasing away the shiver of the cold air on her heated skin. “How are you always quicker than me?”

“For you, I would outrace dragons.” His fingers grazed her chin and tilted her face towards his, so he could lean in and kiss her, stealing her breath away. “Marry me,” he whispered almost desperately, pressing their foreheads together.

There was only a second of silence before she answered, “I will, Lífrael. I will always be yours.”

“As I will be yours, my sweet little dream.”

When the night neared its end, they walked together hand in hand through the halls of the darkened castle. The comfortable silence wrapping around them, hugging them in a capsule of calmness, was something they were used to. On Mara’s finger rested a dark blue ring, which Lífrael had charmed and span from the deepest night.

The peace would never last. Quickly approaching steps interrupted them. Lífrael tensed and grabbed his weapon – a falchion called Epiales - preparing to protect his beloved princess.

“My princess, please come with me,” the approaching elf called desperately, not even looking at Lífrael. His face was worried and unhappy. The knowledge of what was happening hung in the air.

They hurried to the Night Queen’s chambers. The room was already filled with sadness and sorrow, even before the last goodbye was said. As the night’s end neared, so did the Night Queen’s. With the first sunbeam Nóttvísi, the Night Queen, left the world. Peacefully, in her sleep, she entered the realm of dead.

For two nights Mara mourned her mother. On the third night Qybern dared to interrupt, “Mara Dröttning, may I prepare the coronation? Our kingdom cannot be without its Queen.”

“You may. And please, give my mother’s sword – Solusjierdar – to her statue in the hall,” she answered, never looking at the elf. Her eyes were glued to the ring on her finger.

“Of course, Queen Mara.” He moved to leave when she stopped him.

“Qybern, a few nights after coronation, have a wedding ceremony prepared, please.” There was no doubt as to who the future Queen would marry. When Mara entered the crown room the next day, no one questioned why Lífrael was already standing by the throne, as more than a personal guard to Queen Mara.

On the other side of Mara stood Qybern. “I hereby proclaim Mara, fourth in her line, first of her name, Ruler of the Winter Lands and Queen of Norvedrgarde.” Carefully, he took the ill-fated black crown into his hand and lay it carefully on Mara’s head. The crown seemed joyful upon its new owner. No one commented on the appearance of a third coloured gemstone. The jewels now appeared grey, red, and dark blue, and seemed to shine from within.

“Long may she reign.” As the crowd echoed the phrase, the crown seemed to shiver with impatience.

Soon the festival of the Long Night approached. On that night, Mara and Lífrael married. He never gained the title of King, instead remaining a personal guard to his queen. Who could better protect her than her husband?

“I will always love you, Mara. Anything you want is yours. You know I could not deny you anything,” he said to her as she lay in his arms, her naked back pressed to his warm chest. Her eyes seemed to sparkle with happiness as she turned to look him in the eyes.

“I know I should first think of the well-being of my kingdom, but the whole world is more important. And you are my whole world.” Concern quickly washed over her face.

No matter how well she tried to hide it, Lífrael saw straight through her. He turned her to face him directly. “You are not going to end up like them. Just because they are known only for bad things does not mean they were bad people entirely.” He paused for a second, admiring her. “You could do thousands of good deeds, but make one mistake and they will forever hold it over you. The Grey Queen founded this city, the Bloody Queen expanded our empire, your mother saved this city. You are a good person. I do not fear you will turn up like them.”

“If you see me become them, kill me.”

“Never.”

For the few years, the entire kingdom was peaceful. After the last battle of the Night Queen, no one dared oppose the Winter Kingdom. And the empire blossomed. Months after their wedding, the Queen announced her pregnancy. Everything appeared good, wonderful. Too good.

One day, a message came from the dwarven city conquered by the Bloody Queen, Vestrgarde. Ships bearing strange new creatures were spotted sailing towards Alagaësia, aiming for the Spine.

Qybern was standing next to Mara when she read the message. She dropped the letter into her lap and sighed tiredly. Her eyes fell to the throne, on which she had sat for so many years. “What do you advise me to do?” she asked.

It seemed as if Qybern fell into a trance. His eyes closed and then quickly snapped open. “It is necessary we send an expedition to talk with them. They are either here to live peacefully by our side, or they are here to gather information and then drag entire armies here to conquer us.”

Thoughtfully, the Queen nodded and rubbed her forehead. The crown felt especially heavy on her head. _It must be someone we trust. Send Lífrael._

“That’s a good idea.”

Qybern gave her a strange look. “I am sorry?”

“That we should send Lífrael. Prepare only a small group, so they know we come in peace. They should report to Vestrgarde as well.” With that, she stood and left for her chambers.

She waited for him. She did not have to wait long. Lífrael barged into their chambers, outraged. “Who gave you the idea? Was it Qybern? I will smack that old fool!” He walked to her and dropped to his knees. “I am not leaving your side, Mara. Or our daughter. How can I protect you if I am not here?” he asked almost desperately.

“I have a feeling this might be important and I only truly trust you,” she whispered to him, caressing his cheek. With a heavy sigh he leaned forward and captured her lips for a few seconds. While he kissed her, he took from his belt his favourite weapon – Epiales – and carefully put it over Mara’s legs.

“I promised I would do anything for you, but please, at least keep it,” he urged. Despair filled his voice.

Mara looked shocked. “But this is your favourite.”

“I am not parting with it forever. Nor am I with you,” he said with a sudden determination. “I won’t fail you.”

The second he left, Mara regretted her decision to send him away, and cursed herself for the idea to do so. She spent most of her lonely nights with her daughter.

The little one kept asking, “Mother, when will father return?”

“Soon, Loviatar, soon.”

When Mara put her daughter to sleep, she would scry her beloved, watching him ride through the white fog to places she had never seen before. A sense of security washed over her as she saw he was safe.

One night she came from her daughter’s room with happy smile. She had used her first spell, and she was so proud of her. It was like her first words, her first laughter, her first steps, all over again.

She walked her bowl and said, “Draumr kopá.” She thought of Lífrael, and could not wait to have him back with her and tell him everything. Joy bubbled from within her to the surface.

Lífrael stood with his expedition in front of something. From his position, she recognized that he was talking to someone. He had a friendly smile on his face. He reached out and shook hands, probably with one of the new strange humans. They nodded to each other and parted.

The happiness inside Mara doubled. The mission seemed successful, and her beloved would return soon. But as it one moment doubled, the next it turned to ash inside her mouth, and her whole world shattered. A white shape like a spear went through Lífrael’s back and protruded from his chest. Soon, the rest of the expedition was slaughtered in a similar manner, obviously outnumbered. With horror, she watched as someone sliced her dying husband’s throat.

“No!” She screamed out repeatedly, attracting the attention of her guards outside. No matter how much she shook her bowl, the events did not change.

Mara did not hear what her guards were asking. She could only feel their fear for her, for their own lives. One of the guards feared for his sick mother. The other guard feared his own reflection in the mirror. The last feared small spaces. The only fear she could not feel was her own. All of her emotions seemed to vaporize.

She did not have the strength to announce what had happened. She only sent the guards away and waited for the message to come to her. When it finally reached her ears, it came from a scared elf, who feared pain and death. She coldly nodded and accepted it. Her daughter cried and locked herself inside her chambers, not speaking to anyone. Not that her mother tried.

“Send another expedition. Bigger, more fighters, and bring me some of those… humans.” She said the last word with disgust.

It was not long before the cells of the castle were filled with more than a few humans. Every night Mara would personally descend to the dungeons and pick one of those foul creatures. Those, who were taken never returned. Soon, she felt them develop a fear of a night, as it had let one of them disappear. Soon, they feared her.

At first, she talked with them. She asked about their families. Soon, she smelled the fear of their worry for them. Then she pried for some difficult moments in their lives, finding phobias and childhood nightmares. One human had a fear of water, because as a child he had almost drowned. Another feared wild animals, because they had killed his brother.

It did not take long before she had drained them all of what she could learn by talking with them. She sent some of them, one by one, on a quest. They were left alone inside a dark cave with one burning torch.

Of course, they were not truly there alone. Scratching was heard, as claws hit the hard stone of the cave. Growling breaths echoed throughout the cave, echoing within it. Whatever it was, it did not dare go close to the light. In an attempt to escape, they would make their way deeper into the cave, the space around them growing smaller, until they could barely pull through it.

There, in the heart of the cave, the tunnel was cut off by an iron bar above a small river flowing from the depths.

Some died because they did not dare lose their torch to swim under the bar. Some died because they lost their only light. Those who never moved from the start were torn apart. In the end, they all met the same fate.

Many other experiments were performed. And after few years, Mara had the perfect grip on what those people feared.

Then another festival of the Long Night came.

When the night was deepest and strongest, the Fear was born. Everyone knows the rules of magic. The Queen knew the spell was beyond her energy. She knew it would kill her.

As the spell took its toll, as the light died inside her eyes, she breathed life into the perfect personification of human fear. As she left this world, she created one of the greatest nightmares of all humans.

The last legacy of the Nightmare Queen. The Ra’zacs.


	17. Two Sides of Winter

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Beta-reader: Dragonblooded

Sometime throughout the day the trio was able to find accommodation for Murtagh. Unlike the other houses for Riders, this one was built beneath the Crags of Tel’naeír inside the hard rock and cold stones. They all expected the house would be incredibly cold and smell of mold, but the walls were well-insulated.

The entire place was rather gloomy, though, of dark colours sometimes laced with crimson red. Although it was well kept, some pieces of furniture looked like they has been rebuilt many times, after taking many beatings from the previous owner in his rage. It only confirmed Morzan's violent habits.

Murtagh and Eragon looked positively uncomfortable, while Marzanna mostly curious. Regardless, they all eventually decided to settle down for the night there.

*************

With the rising sun the next day the trio and their dragons gathered in front of Oromis’ hut. He was sitting outside, calm and balanced, exactly as Eragon had always known him. There was no trace of yesterday’s event in his face. When they neared, he raised his head and gave them a mild, reassuring smile and motioned for them to sit down around the table.

There was a silence, perhaps longer than an hour. Eragon already knew the lesson and kept his silence, contenting himself with his own thoughts. With a weak smile, he noted that he had certainly done better his first time than Marzanna and Murtagh did now. They both grew restless and fidgeted in their seats, trying to occupy themselves.

Oromis studied them both. Once he was satisfied, he broke the silence. “Very well. It seems like you are patient enough to be taught, but only time will show if you have enough patience to learn.

Since you have all agreed to become my apprentices, I have certain standards and expectations of you. I teach Riders, not vagabonds, so you will come to my lessons clean and dressed properly. We do not have as much time as we would have had in the blossoming age of Riders. Come to my lessons prepared, always.  You are to call Glaedr and I 'ebrithil', or 'master', if you prefer the human language.“

Murtagh seemed to understand and accept this, and merely nodded. On the other hand, Marzanna was not so easily convinced. Usually, she was the one in charge, and there was rarely someone whom she had to show such respect and authority. Eragon saw a nerve twitch inside her cheek, but he was not able to stop her from speaking.

“I suppose that is a better title than 'father‘,” Marzanna said with a defiant look on her face. She folded her arms over her chest.

There was a tense silence. Oromis’ expression hardened, but those who looked close enough could see that it hit a sore spot. Glaedr growled so much it made Eragon’s teeth jolt. Boreas, who hadn't really been listening, seemed to suddenly focus and growled back at Glaedr immediately, always prepared to protect his Rider.

The old elf closed his eyes for a second, trying to regain his steadiness. “That was uncalled for. The situation between us is not simple, but it has nothing to do with this apprenticeship. I am trying to separate it from this, where it does not belong. I want you to do the same. You can either respect me as your authority for as long as you are being taught, or go inside and entertain yourself like the child you are being, until I am finished with boys and can pay attention to you.”

Never had Eragon heard Oromis speak so strictly, yet calmly. Marzanna’s expression was unreadable, but eventually, she slowly nodded. “I apologize.” She hesitated before finishing with: “Ebrithil.” The pronunciation was imperfect, but Oromis seemed satisfied.

Murtagh and Eragon sighed in relief. The silver-haired elf then carried on with his lesson, asking them various questions from all fields. Murtagh was asked about farming, herbs and poisonous plants. Marzanna received a few about the ancient language, one or two about battle strategies and a lot about the elven culture. Eragon thought he could answer most of Oromis’ questions, but was bitterly disappointed with himself when he barely answered any. He was tested on gramarye, dwarven culture and healing spells. The latter he remembered studying, but could not recall.

When Oromis chased them all from their chairs into the open area, Eragon immediately felt dread forming in his stomach at the prospect of what was about to happen. Deep inside he enjoyed a little bit how lost his two friends were. He enjoyed the fact that they did not know what was coming their way.

They stood at a distance from one another. Oromis finally spoke. “The Dance of Snake and Crane. Prove to me your flexibility. Even elves must train this skill.”

Oromis first studied Murtagh’s posture, and made him perform all types of flexes and stretches. The Red Rider seemed confident in the beginning, but as the poses grew harder, the arrogant smile slowly dissipated.

“I see. You have great amounts of muscle tissue. A helpful trait, but cumbersome to flexibility.”

Then he went through the same procedure with Marzanna. Eragon was not surprised, when she was able to do almost all the poses. She took a lot after her father. The she-elf was even able to connect her hands behind her back and touch them to the ground when she bent forward. If Oromis was proud, he did not show it, only nodding.

All of them together started at the first level of Rimgar, which went smoothly. The first obstacle came in the second level, when both boys started to slightly struggle, while the father and daughter left them behind in dust.  After an hour of the Dance of Snake and Crane, Oromis sent them to the stream to wash themselves.

Eragon, used to being there alone, started to undress, until he remembered his company. His cheeks immediately turned crimson. He would not have minded Murtagh--they had seen each other in worse situations--but Marzanna was a different story. He was a bit stunned when his half-brother undressed without hesitation, somehow comfortable naked in the presence of them both.

Marzanna paid them no attention. With a doubtful look she came closer to the stream and looked at her reflection in the water. She dipped her foot inside. Where her skin touched the water, its current slowed as ice started to form. She quickly pulled her foot out, breaking the ice. Disgust appeared on her face as she was again presented with her reflection.

The she noted Eragon’s embarrasement. Her lips twisted into a little vicious smile. “Oh, come on. You saw me naked. It is only fair that I get my turn. Pants down.”

If it was even possible, the Blue Rider’s cheeks turned an even deeper red. In an almost shy way he crossed his arms in order to hide his chest. Marzanna rolled her eyes. “Virgin.” With that, she started to gather her things.

“Marzanna, wait.” shouted Murtagh. He looked rather grumpy. “We need to ta-.”

“No,” was her only answer as she quickly walked away.

In a need to improve his day, Eragon listened in on Saphira’s thoughts, in her lesson with Glaedr, Thorn and Boreas. She certainly seemed to enjoy being the only female in the group. From what he gathered, Thorn was a grumpy-clumsy-bumbling-midget, who was trying to get her attention, while Boreas was an arrogant-narcissistic-impulsive-idiot, who Saphira was smitten with, and upset that he ignored her.

Eragon groaned loudly. _That_ was certainly something he did not need in his life. He could not wait for the day to end.

*************

As soon as Saphira and Eragon arrived at the Crags of Tel’naeír, Glaedr immediately led all the dragons away, leaving Eragon alone outside. He waited for ten minutes before Murtagh arrived alone, with Zar’roc by his side. After another ten minutes, Oromis and Marzanna came out of the hut. Those who live closest always come last. Both of them had their swords.

“Today, I would like to see your swordsmanship. Even yours, Eragon. I have reason to believe you may be worsening. But only a proper fight can show that,” said Oromis. The Blue Rider felt a little offended, but decided not to doubt his Master. “Zar’roc and Brisingr will go first.”

Both Riders nodded and protected their blades. Eragon stood in front of Murtagh with slightly bent knees, his side facing his half-brother to minimize the area for the Red Rider to strike. He betted on Murtagh losing his temper first.

And that happened soon. With two long stride-jumps, his brother was in front of him and attacking him from one side. Eragon quickly jumped aside and their swords parried. With a quick turn, he disengaged their swords and swung after Murtagh’s unprotected side, but the blade was stopped by a familiar red sheath. Before the Blue Rider was able to recover, Murtagh lunged at him with his full force, tackling him to the ground.

The impact forced most of the air out of his lungs, but he reflexively rolled to the side to avoid Murtagh’s pommel to his jaw. During the fall, Eragon dropped his sword. In order to get to it, he kicked forward and hit his brother’s shin. He used that distraction to dive for the lost sword and soon, both of them were standing, facing each other again.

Eragon feinted an attack on Murtagh’s head, but quickly changed to strike at his hip. The blade made light contact, but both of them knew that unless the blade had been poisoned, it would not anything of importance.

This seemed to only make his brother angrier. His attacks became more vicious and unexpected. Eragon had trouble covering them all. In the end, he had more bruises than Murtagh. He felt his entire body complain about the exertion.

After what seemed like ages, Oromis made them stop. He seemed satisfied. “That was not as bad as I expected, but Eragon, you were once better. Your protecting spells strip away your sense of danger, and you take more risks, sometimes for nothing. Murtagh, you fight completely tensed, which makes your muscles harden, and you tire yourself faster. Also, you are at a greater risk of getting a cramp during a fight. You both need more training. So, you will be starting tomorrow. Now, let us start with our grama-”

“What? I want to fight, too. They have had their fun while I was stuck here with you. No offence, but you are not quite a fighter,” said Marzanna.

Oromis’ lips tightened into one line. It was obvious he did not want to see his daughter fight. He could not help but see his fragile Lilith in her. In the end, he sighed. “Will you ever learn respect? Nevertheless, we shall give you what you want. Let us engage Naegling and Íssbrandr.”

Marzanna nodded almost happily, yet she measured up Oromis doubtfully. Despite his weak appearance, she could not skip the opportunity to search for weak spots. When they had both stretched, they got into their positions.

For a few minutes, nothing happened. Both tested the other’s patience. But the winner of the battle was already known – Oromis. Marzanna faked an attack from the left, which she after a fraction of a second turned to the right. But, as if Oromis had expected her movement, he easily stopped Íssbrand from hitting its target, despite its speed, and instead diverting it to the ground.

This unbalance seemed to throw Marzanna off and Oromis immediately swung toward her face as she fell. The blade swished through empty air. Marzanna curled herself into a ball and sped up her fall to avoid Naegling. She rolled to the side and quickly pushed herself off of the ground, finding herself behind her father’s back.

Without hesitation, she aimed for it, but Oromis blocked the attack even while spinning to face her. It was mostly Marzanna attacking, while the silver-haired elf only protected himself, saving his energy for a time of greater need.

Oromis was obviously waiting for something. And soon, the moment came. Marzanna seemed to get bolder with her attacks, expecting her father only to protect himself. With a lightning-fast thrust, Oromis aimed at Marzanna’s unprotected chest.

The sword never hit its target. It pierced through an icy shield, which appeared out of nowhere. Marzanna had crossed her arms in front of her as a last resort. It was never needed, as Naegling was safely stuck inside a levitating ice shield.

Once Oromis gathered his wits, he said to her, “I am not sure I see a point in fighting with swords, if you insist upon using spells.”

She shook her head in disbelief as the shield started to melt away and release Naegling. “I did not do it intentionally.”

“Pardon?”

“I did not do it intentionally. That is just how my magic works.” When her father still appeared unconvinced, she sighed and continued: “I do not know how or why. I feel like to winter I am a beloved ruler. Snow and ice are my vassals. They want to obey me and protect me.”

Oromis seemed surprised, but curious as well. He lowered his sword and placed it inside its sheath. He nodded. “I am not sure I can comprehend these powers, but perhaps we should finally go over some gramarye. Do you agree?” He asked all of them.

There was no protest.

*************

Soon, they all fell into an everyday routine. The dragons left with Glaedr right after sunrise and returned before the sunset. The old dragon seemed annoyed more and more every day by Saphira’s distraction and playfulness, Thorn’s backtalk, or Boreas’ smartass remarks about his teaching methods. Once, he got so mad, he roared at them so much that even the mountains shook. That solved the problem for around an hour before it all started again.

Their Riders were amused by that. Glaedr reminded them of a father of three, who only wants to get a proper sleep. But his children keep pulling on his feet and jumping on his stomach and so on.

Eragon and Murtagh both started every morning with difficulty, with the Dance of Snake and Crane. Slowly, they managed to proceed to level three. Their muscles were so stretched, it felt as if they would rid themselves of their attachments and shoot their way into the sky. In between, Marzanna and Oromis trained the Ancient Language. The silver-haired elf sometimes seemed to get a nervous tick in his eye. Marzanna’s tongue was raised mainly on the rough Urgalian language, and pronounced the soft elven words in a very harsh way.

After that, Oromis chose two from the trio to cross their swords, while taking the third away for a special lesson, to teach them knowledge he deemed they lacked. Eragon felt ashamed when Oromis questioned him on dwarven culture and he failed to answer most of them. Since he was a member of the dwarven nation, he should know these things, Oromis told him.

Sometimes, he took them all aside and told them about history, gramarye or various spells. From time to time, they stumbled upon the Winter Kingdom.

“Skulblakas ven. Does it sound familiar?” asked Oromis one day. He looked directly at Eragon. “I know for certain you have tried it. Have you had the chance to practise it since the last time?”

The Blue Rider shook his head. “Since my change during the Agaetí Blödhren I have not needed it. My sight so far has served me well.” Eragon shrugged. He made a mental note to try it again sometime with Saphira, who sent him her own affirmation of the idea through their bond.

Then, he turned to Murtagh. “Once, I used it, when the King told me the proper words.”

“And how was it?” Oromis asked right away.

The Red Rider seemed uncertain, almost ashamed. “I am not used to it. I could suddenly see far too many things. It made my head spin.”

“I see. Sensory overload is common with human Riders, but it improves with time, I promise,” he reassured Murtagh with a smile on his face.

Marzanna seemed upset. Her eyebrows almost created the shape of the letter V as she frowned. “I am not sure I follow. Is this something about dragon’s eyes?” Her skills in the Ancient Language were getting better, but there were still miles for her to go.

Oromis nodded slowly. “Almost. Ven does not refer to the eyes, but sight,” corrected the silver-haired elf. “You have never used it, then, I assume. The Rider is able to use his dragon’s sight with it. It certainly becomes useful, because it can reveal many hidden things. When a scouting party was dispatched, they often used it. It is quite handy at night,” explained Oromis.

“Oh. I use that with Boreas all the time, but I did not know its correct name. I just ask him for the ‘mind-tug’ and suddenly I am inside his body, could see like him and fly like him. It was amazing, and very useful. When Durza came for our men, he took more than half of our units. I was able to save the other half by hiding them in the woods, because I saw him coming through Boreas’ sight,” said Marzanna, almost proudly.

The silver elf nodded, but worry crossed over his face. “Skulblakas ven is not the same as what you describe. The former is much safer, where the mind stays inside its body. Your ‘mind-tug’ is certainly a great bonding ritual, but it is incredibly dangerous. Your mind leaves your body, and you cannot protect it. The Rider’s body could easily die while his mind was inside his dragon’s body. He would have nowhere to return to.”

“So,” Murtagh input, “If I were to die, and there was no way to survive, could Thorn pull me out of my dying body and I could carry on living?”

“It might be possible, but no one has tried it so far. It would be an abomination to have two minds share one body. And the shock of losing your physical body could make such an impact that your mind would go crazy, which would destroy Thorn from within. That is one thing worse than death,” finished Oromis.

*************

Later that day, Eragon and Marzanna were sent outside, while Murtagh was summoned for a lesson of elven culture at which he could only groan in distaste. One other part of their routine was Marzanna's avoidance of moments alone with Murtagh, not wanting to talk with him. Eragon could already see that the Red Rider’s patience was running thin.

Eragon locked Brisingr’s blade between his fingers and mumbled the words to secure it. A blue spark jumped from his fingers, dulling the blade with an invisible shield. He inspected his work and with a satisfied smile looked up to Marzanna, who was already facing him, with her sword hanging loosely from her hand by her side.

A wicked smile found its way onto her face as she looked him over, as if he was her prey. Her eyes slowly raided his body, but not in search of weaknesses. Instead, she seemed to be appraising him. Eragon felt the blood rush to his face, and he uncomfortable adjusted Brisingr in front of him.

It managed to throw Eragon off. He was completely taken by surprise when Marzanna all of sudden snapped, her face immediately hardening into an impenetrable stone mask. With one long jump, she overcame the distance between them and before Eragon could recover, her white pommel was thrust into his jaw.

He yelped and staggered one step back, trying to get out of her reach. Yet, no attack came.

Marzanna was walking around him in circles with one hand behind her back, while the other held Íssbrandr at ease. She measured him as a predator looking at a frightened rabbit. Eragon knew well that Marzanna’s plan was never to play by rules. But it was one thing to expect tricks, and another to be able to prevent them.

The Blue Rider tried to read her body language, to latch onto anything giving away her next move, but he had no success. Nothing betrayed her. It almost seemed as if she knew her own move only a tiny moment before she made it. After she charged at him a few more times, he realized she was misusing her knowledge of his limited human agility, in comparison with her.

When he was smacked with the flat of the blade across his head, he became upset. Sword-fighting was once his strong side. Slowly, he managed to distance himself from the distraction Marzanna posed. He reevaluated her. She had a lithe body and was a smaller target than him, but he was stronger.

He released the tension inside his muscles and instead allowed his instincts to take over. Suddenly, he was able to hit Marzanna a few times, who stared at him in shock. Eragon seized the chance with a twisted smile and swung Brisingr at her. She managed to jump back, but the tip still scratched over her tunic, cutting through it.

Eragon did not see it coming. Marzanna’s eyes did not leave his. He did not notice the she-elf had carried a small stone on her foot for some time. Her balance was so good, it did not fall from there, even when she moved. So, naturally, he was surprised when it was seemingly fired from the ground.

The Blue Rider yelped, but his instincts kicked in, and he was able to block the stone with his dominant hand. It was a lucky move, since it was aimed at very sensitive areas. The impact made him drop his sword, and he clutched his hurt hand. “Hey, careful next time,” growled Eragon.

“Oh, come on, I knew you would divert it. Trust me, it is not my intention to damage you there.” With that, she winked at him and the self-assured smile appeared on her face again. Eragon pretended to still cradle his hand.

By waiting, pretending to be more injured than he really was, he slowly lulled Marzanna into letting her guard down. Once she was distracted, he stripped her of her weapon. He crouched down and jumped forward, tackling her to the ground, aiming to overpower her with his strength.

Despite surprising her, Marzanna was able to turn the attack to her advantage. She flipped them during the fall and made Eragon her own personal landing pillow. As his head hit the ground, he saw stars dance in front of his eyes.

When he recovered, he found himself pinned to the ground, Marzanna straddling him. He started to struggle, expecting to throw the she-elf off. To his surprise, she was stronger than she looked, and kept him safely pinned. It almost seemed as if it was effortless for her.

They carried on in their power-play for ten more minutes until Eragon went still. His expression immediately turned into a poker face. His face turned red as his blood reacted to the friction they created and rushed south. It worsened when he looked up at Marzanna, whose tunic hung loosely on her frame, revealing naked pale skin beneath it.

Her hair tickled Eragon's cheek as she leaned over him, pinning his hands next to his head. The Blue Rider felt his heart skip a beat when she shortened the distance between their faces, her eyes directed to his lips. For a while, he was able to forget about his shame, instead quivering with anticipation.

When their lips were only a centimetre away, she moved to the side and pressed her lips to his ear. “What's wrong, Eragon?” She almost moaned out his name.

As he felt himself harden beneath Marzanna even more, he remembered his situation. “N-nothing. I admit defeat. Could you please get up?” He begged in the hope that she wouldn't notice.

A wide smile brightened her face. She let go of his hands. “Alright.” Eragon sighed in relief, but before Marzanna stood, she rolled her hips above his crotch, making his situation even worse. “I think I know anyway.”

With that, she rose and left him lying on the ground, with a hard on and cheeks so red they competed with Thorn's scales.


	18. Ice meets Water

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Beta-reader: Dragonblooded

**!!!18+ scene!!!**

_I am a little hungry. I am going to go hunting. Want to go with me, little one?_ Saphira asked as she prepared to take off from their house in the trees.

Eragon was lying on his bed, staring emptily at the ceiling. He couldn't get that day’s sword fight out of his mind, especially after Marzanna had joined the battle. He groaned as he remembered his embarrassment.

 _Go alone._ Eragon growled, like a wounded animal. His pride had been damaged, but even more aggravating, the effect she had had on him was still present. As he heard Saphira leave, he looked down and bit his lip nervously. His eyes moved to his hand, considering what he could do about it.

With closed eyes, he swallowed the guilt creeping in on him. On his closed lids he began to replay that afternoon’s events, how she had had him beneath her and pressed her legs against his hips, squeezing him. How her weight pressed against his crotch almost too comfortably.  He slowly slid his hand in his pants to relieve the tension that had been building inside him the entire day.

A moan escaped his lips as he touched himself. He recalled how her tunic had barely covered her, how he had cut it in half, revealing enough to pique his interests, but hiding enough to encourage him to keep trying to uncover it. It did not matter that he had seen it all already. He would have been as excited as he was the first time.

His fantasy became more creative with the absence of source material. He imagined flipping them over, turning the tables. He wanted to know how it felt to have her yield to him. His hand sped up as his mind carried him away. He almost wished that his own hand was colder, recalling how ice-cold her presence felt.

Eragon smiled. He almost felt as if a cold breeze washed over him.

“Firesword, are you there?” A familiar voice called from outside. Eragon yelped. He quickly pulled his hand out of his pants, sat up in his bed, and put a pillow over his crotch. His cheeks burnt with shame.

“Come in,” he answered, and watched as Marzanna slipped inside, immediately covering the entrance with the tree’s membrane. “Marzanna!” He called out, “You are not supposed to be in Ellesméra. What are you doing here?”

She shrugged and winked at him. “So what? The worst they can do is execute me. I would say I can live with that, but hardly so. As Oromis said, there are worse fates than death. And one is currently following me. Murtagh seems determined to talk with me today. Can I stay? I don’t think he will search for me in here.”

“Uh, sure, make yourself at home. If you don’t mind, I will stay in bed. I'm beaten after today’s Rimgar.” Eragon coughed and diverted his gaze. He was not a good liar. 

Marzanna wandered around the tree house for a while, eyeing it with curiosity. In the end she made herself comfortable on the other side of Eragon’s bed, while the Blue Rider stayed completely rigid, as if the pillow could dissolve into the air and leave him uncovered.

“These beds are actually pretty comfortable. In my village there is nothing like it. That’s considered for weak,” she complained as her hands glided over the smooth bedsheets.

Eragon let out a breath he did not know he had been holding. “To be honest -  please do not get offended - I never really liked Urgals. Brom and I once travelled through a small town named Yazuak. What the Urgals did there was terrible. I vividly remember a baby lying atop a pile of dead corpses, pierced with a spear.” It brought a different type of fire to Eragon's veins to remember his hatred for them.

There was a silence. “You give us too much credit. We steal from humans, but we rarely kill them. Except during open war, we would not destroy an entire village filled with unarmed humans. We value bravery and strength, and what show of strength would be to kill a defenceless infant? If any Urgal admitted to such behaviour, he would be banished. We prefer to fight someone our own size,” she explained quietly. Her voice was laced with sadness.

The Blue Rider paused. “When I travelled with your brother, he revealed some of your traditions. It was hard for me to imagine the Urgals as more than violence and blood.”

Marzanna snickered. “I don’t blame you. You cannot understand our traditions the same way we do. You were not raised with them. I bet he mentioned our maturity test. He keeps talking about how he killed that cave bear.” She rolled her eyes.

“You do not seem impressed.”

“Hard to be impressed by your own brother. I killed my own cave bear when I was sixteen. Boreas went mad when I cut off our connection, to truly do it without any help,” said Marzanna.

The Blue Rider blinked in confusion. “Wait, wouldn’t that make you… Nar Marzanna?” They both shivered at how terrible it sounded.

“You wish. Or I wish. Our elders did not approve of me as a chief. I cannot blame them. If the situation was reversed, I would do the same.”

There was a comfortable silence between them as they both lost themselves in their own thoughts. The cold slowly expanded from Marzanna to touch and caress Eragon’s skin. It reminded him of his thoughts a few minutes prior. He blushed as he felt himself grow hard again.

She studied him with an amused eye. “Are you magically levitating that pillow or are you just glad you see me?” Marzanna snickered.

Eragon felt more blood rush toward his face. He opened and closed his mouth a few times, searching for an apology or proper explanation, but words escaped him.

“You know,” Marzanna started slowly. A slightly twisted smile slowly formed on her face. She rolled from her side of the bed to his and suddenly their faces were centimetres apart. “I would like to know how the ‘Firesword’ tastes.” She winked at him with an amused spark in her eye.

The words affected Eragon in the best of ways. Before he was able to lift his arm, his hand was pinned to his side by Marzanna’s. “Am I not allowed to touch you?” asked Eragon, the disappointment almost palpable in his voice.

“Depends. Do you deserve it?” She smirked at him. She minimized the distance between them, leaving only an inch between their lips. Eragon felt his heart stop for a few seconds before it picked up again even quicker. His eyes did not leave hers. He expected a kiss, but nothing came. Slowly, he started getting nervous, and it was obvious Marzanna enjoyed being the cause of that.

She leaned in even closer, but still their lips did not touch. The closeness of her lips triggered some instinct of his, and without thought, he connected their lips. Her lips were cold as ice, but as smooth as freshly fallen snow. He closed his eyes and deepened their kiss.

She pushed aside the pillow between them and straddled him, her legs locking around his torso. Uncertainly, he brought his other hand to her hip, bringing her closer. Marzanna deepened the kiss, approving his touch. He was afraid that if he let go, she would disappear, like last night's dream in tomorrow's morning.

It was Marzanna who broke the kiss. Her fingers caressed Eragon’s chin and then a bit roughly turned his face to the side. Her lips attached to his neck. The tip of her tongue fluttered between her lips and Eragon’s skin, making him moan. He had not known his neck could be so sensitive. He could feel her smile form again.

Once she disconnected, he took the chance to turn them over, as he had in his fantasy. He looked down at Marzanna and smiled gently. His heart was beating so fast. She looked surprised, obviously used to dominance.

“Allow me to lead you this time,” he begged her, pressing chaste kisses to her face.

She gave him a mockingly doubtful look. “You sure you know where to stick it?”

Eragon felt blood rush north as well. The deepening smile on Marzanna’s face betrayed her enjoyment in making the Blue Rider nervous. “I only tease. Where is the fun in submission?”

“If I knew, I would tell you.” Eragon sighed, still hopeful he might win this round.

“If I am down here, I want to enjoy the view, at least.” Eragon was confused until her legs squeezed him even tighter and brought him closer. Her hands glided over his back, reaching for the hem of his tunic to roll it up. Eragon then shrugged it off, leaving him bare-chested under Marzanna’s pleased gaze.

Her cold hands immediately attached themselves to his chest and caressed the muscles that had started to form there after he left Carvahall. There was so much desire in her eyes that he did not feel self-conscious.

Eragon bent down again to capture her lips in a bruising kiss. With newly acquired confidence, his hands slid beneath her tunic and he inspected every piece of skin he could reach, feeling and enjoying its almost familiar coldness. It was not long before she allowed him to remove the cloth. He felt a little bit hesitant, but when he looked up and saw no concern in her eyes, he realized there was nothing to fear.

Her hand found its way to his hair, and by tugging on it, she started moving him lower. He kissed his way to her chest and without hesitation latched his lips there, enjoying a part of the body he did not own. He slowly gained confidence and creativity and played with his tongue, lips, and hands, finding a pattern to make Marzanna squeeze his torso harder and moan louder.

Marzanna’s feet pushed down his unclasped pants, leaving him naked. Her foot glided across the back of his leg. He did not need to ask if it was his turn to undress her. Soon, they were both lying naked, their bodies locked together.

His hand slid over her belly and between her legs. There, Marzanna helped him in his inexperience. He touched her there, trying to map the area. He felt wetness on his fingers and once he found the source of it, one of his fingers slipped inside. A sharp intake of breath indicated her pleasure.

He enjoyed the velvety wetness that met him. It did not take long before she asked for more. He obeyed, slipping another finger inside her, making her walls stretch. He felt her muscles quiver around him. Eragon pulled his fingers out a few times completely and then thrust them back inside her.

For the first time, he saw some blush enter her face as well. He watched her for any strange reactions before he pulled his fingers out of her completely. Curiosity got the best of him, and he licked his fingers afterwards.

No words were needed as Eragon got comfortable between her legs. Marzanna guided his member towards her entrance and the Blue Rider carefully, aware he could hurt her, pushed inside, first with only the tip, giving her time to accommodate him, before he buried himself entirely.

Both of them released a loud moan of relief as their bodies finally connected. He looked at her almost lovingly and kissed her lips deeply, needing to feel close to her everywhere. Slowly, teasingly, he pulled partly out and then snapped his hips back. In no time, with her navigation, he was able to find a comfortable rhythm to made them both moan.

One of her hands slid over his back, caressing his heated skin and pressing him closer to her. The other slipped between their bodies between her own legs as she started to touch herself. Eragon made a mental note to ask her about it later, wanting to please her better.

Suddenly, her walls started hugging him in pulsing motions, squeezing him inside of her. Her legs wrapped around him as she released a quiet but long moan. Eragon did not completely understand it, but it sent him over the edge as he pressed his hips tightly to hers.

He buried his face in the spot between her neck and shoulder, inhaling her scent. He did not notice that her entire body stiffened, as if she expected danger. His teeth were too close to a spot her culture considered a weakness. Yet, they stayed connected for some time, her hand still caressing his back, while the other combed through his hair.

Eragon slightly lifted his head to look at her face. Marzanna’s eyes were closed and her body immediately relaxed, as if she had escaped a threat. “When will we marry?” asked Eragon.

Her eyes immediately snapped open. “What?”

“I took you, so I should marry you now,” explained Eragon, confused by her reaction. That was the usual procedure in Carvahall, and the only procedure he knew.

Marzanna stared at him for a while in disbelief, until she broke into laughter, finally understanding what Eragon meant. “Just because we had sex, does not mean you have to marry me. I do not live according to human traditions, nor are you tied to them, since you are a Rider,” Marzanna answered with an amused smile.

Eragon knew that Marzanna was not raised with his traditions, but it was a belief he still held onto.

“Ugh, maybe one day.” Marzanna brushed him off, but did not stop caressing him. “I really did wanted to taste you,” she said, almost sad at the lost opportunity.

“Maybe one day,” returned Eragon with a smile and a kiss.

_+BREAK+_

The night was calm and cold, disturbed by nothing but soldiers guarding its walls on patrol. The entire city was asleep, lost in the world of dreams, gathering energy for yet another day filled with worry over their own little lives.

It could almost be considered a crime to disturb the sleep of the innocent, but a criminal will always be a criminal, just as black will always be black. It matters not what it is called, the creature is still the same.

Four small earthquakes made the pictures on their walls quiver, the cups on their table fall, and their restful dreams shatter like their glasses. As they huddled together in fear, looking out of their windows to the moon, they could see it disappear behind the silhouette of a huge dragon.

The Varden’s patrols immediately ran to Nasuada. Shruikan was awake.


	19. To Melt Away

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Beta-reader: Dragonblooded

Eragon woke to the first rays of the morning sun tickling his skin. His eyes stayed closed, not ready to welcome the day. The memories from the night before caught up with him and a satisfied smile poured over his face. He extended his arm toward Marzanna. But he was met only with a pillow warmed by the rising sun.

His eyes cracked open in confusion. He searched for the source of his coldness. With a frown on his face, he looked around the room and yelped in surprise as his eyes met sapphire blue ones. He shyly pulled the blanket closer to him.

 _Good morning to you, too, little one,_ said Saphira, amused. _You pretend as if I did not see all of you before. Those little parts are of no interest to me._ She folded her head on her limbs.

The Blue Rider immediately turned a vivid red colour. He did not need to read his dragon’s mind to know she knew. _You just surprised me, my loved one,_ he answered with sigh, ignoring the offence. _How lo-?_

 _How long I have been here? Or how long since she left? She left before I arrived, and I have been here for a few hours already._ Her bright blue eyes watched him carefully. Eragon could not help himself and recalled yesterday’s events. Of course, Saphira did not care about his privacy, and chuckled inside his mind. _You humans are strange._

 _She is not human and neither am I, partly,_ Eragon said defensively.

But to Saphira they were all the same. Small and strangely shaped. Pointed ears did not make that much of a difference. _Eragon, I know this is your choice, but I do not want to see you hurt. Be careful. I am not sure she was meant for you._

 _Saphira, I am not dumb. I can hear your thoughts about Boreas. If you plan to mate with him, wouldn’t my closeness with Marzanna make it easier?_ Eragon felt a strange satisfaction when Saphira’s surprise reached him.

She tried to mask it. _So what? I admit, Boreas has many attractive genes which I feel would be great to pass on._

 _I did not want to hear that._ Eragon shivered at the thought of Saphira mating with the white dragon.

 _What? That’s normal. Don’t tell me you did not imagine how your and Marzanna's hatchlings would look._ When she was answered with a resolute ‘no’, she replied in confusion, _Then I do not understand why you mated yesterday._

Eragon felt his cheeks burn again. He escaped to the bathroom to prepare for the day.

_+BREAK+_

When they arrived at the Crags of Tel’naeír, another problem appeared on the horizon. Boreas seemed to have woken up on the wrong side of the bed that morning. He was incredibly grumpy, and extremely uncooperative. He snapped at Glaedr, who eventually roared at him so loudly, everyone cowered as the mountains shook. Boreas seemed to have a death wish. He did not even lower his head, instead staring back at him defiantly, waiting for the golden dragon’s roaring to stop, and then continued to annoy him.

That lasted until Oromis decided to spare Glaedr the torture at the cost of Eragon’s and Murtagh’s displeasure. He allowed Boreas to stay with them, provided he took up his ice body and trained with them properly.

When the two Riders were ordered to perform Rimgar, they both looked forward to seeing the white dragon suffer with them. But he far too smoothly wriggled his way out of the Rimgar’s grasp, claiming the ice was not made to be lithe and flexible. In the end, he watched them pant and suffer from a bench next to Oromis’ hut with a smug smile plastered on his face.

And as usual, a common enemy unites. Murtagh started to complain to Eragon about the unfairness, and soon, the Blue Rider joined in as well. Neither focused on the Dance of Snake and Crane, instead shooting Boreas hateful glares.

“I am pretty sure that is not how the Rimgar is supposed to look,” Boreas called to them from his comfortable seat. That attracted Oromis' attention, who immediately scolded them, especially the Blue Rider, as he had already passed that level.

Marzanna joined them outside later for sword fighting, her sword already prepared and secured. Eragon felt his heart flutter and his stomach clench when he spotted her. She greeted him in her usual way, with a smirk plastered on her face. There was no change in her coldness. He could feel his excited smile freeze on his face and melt away.

He tried to reason with himself that she just did not want to involve any romantic feelings in their studies. It did not make him feel any less bitter.

This time Oromis did not take any of them inside. He had suffered a seizure the night before, and after one lesson correcting the boys with Marzanna, he had already become tired. Instead, he observed.

“Maybe it is a good thing you stayed, Boreas. It is not good to get used to one or two swordsmen's fighting style. Everyone fights differently, and you all need to be able to adapt to any other challenger. So take a sword and choose who you want to challenge,” Oromis said to them, aiming the end at Boreas.

A slightly sadistic smile appeared on the ice-statue's face. “I shall challenge Eragon,” he said immediately. Both male Riders blinked, confused. Murtagh was certain he would be chosen. Boreas had hated him since the very first day. But he had never seemed so hateful toward Eragon like he did this day.

Marzanna handed Boreas her sword without question. To her only the white dragon gave a warm smile, gratefully pressing her hand as he took the sword from her.

Eragon analysed his enemy as best as he could, trying to spot any weaknesses, any pressure points, anything he could use. Too caught up in thinking, he did not realize he was slowly revealing his own weaknesses.

As soon as Boreas shot Eragon his arrogant smirk, the Blue Rider was reminded of the smug injustice from that morning. He attacked first. In a matter of seconds, they were locked in ruthless combat. It was clear that Boreas was right; the ice was not made to be flexible. It was also obvious that he was not used to the ice-form too much. Some of his movements lagged. Sometimes he took long steps from which he hardly recovered. Despite this disadvantage, he was not much worse than Eragon.

He was sneaky, and vicious. He knew Eragon’s body was soft – made of flesh – while Boreas' was made of hard ice that did not feel pain. Any time there was a chance to grapple, he seized the chance to cover Eragon in bruises.

In the end, Eragon was a better swordsman than Boreas, but the latter left with a dark, pleased smile on his face. He left the Blue Rider so bruised that he had had to heal himself in order to endure the rest of the day.

The Blue Rider shambled slowly to Murtagh, completely exhausted. “Thanks for taking the beating instead of me. I really thought he would pick me,” his half-brother told him, patting him on an unhurt shoulder.

Eragon nodded tiredly and moaned as he sat down. “I feel worse than after my first fight with Brom. He whipped me thoroughly, but this was so much harder. I don’t know what Saphira sees in him. I really am starting to worry they could mate.”

“You don’t have to. She has way too many limbs for him,” Murtagh answered without thinking. When he realized what he said, he pressed his lips together, hoping his half-brother hadn't heard.

“What?” came Eragon's confused reply.

“What?”

“I don’t know, Murtagh, Glaedr does not seem like his type,” Eragon said doubtfully.

The Red Rider broke into loud laughter as the image of Glaedr and Boreas happily flying through the sky appeared in his mind. “That’s not what I meant,” he said, once he had calmed enough to speak in full sentences. His eyes snapped for a second, almost imperceptibly,to Marzanna.

But Eragon noticed. “Wh-? Hell no,” he said almost to himself as he began to understand Boreas' hostility. “But they are different species!”

“I know, but just think. There have never been rumours about a white dragon. So, he was kept hidden, well hidden, probably only in contact with Marzanna. That’s why he is so attached to her. Then, he gets a body similar to hers, and maybe he sees her a bit differently. He is certainly protective of her,” Murtagh said simply as he watched Marzanna looked over Boreas’ ice-form, checking for cracks or any other problems.

Eragon gathered his courage and prepared to go to speak with Marzanna, but she vanished, nowhere in sight anymore. He just sighed desperately and suddenly felt compassion for Murtagh in his last few weeks.

_+BREAK+_

“I believe Eragon has been searching for you all afternoon,” said a soft voice from behind Marzanna. She was standing in a small clearing behind Oromis’ house. It was a little garden, filled with various healing herbs and edible berries. The silence was interrupted only by a small stream of refreshingly cold water, which offered itself to the life there, for all the plants and tiny animals to cherish.

There, in one corner beneath heavy branches of trees, stood a huge stone. And there, Marzanna found her safe haven. The stone she used as a pedestal for the sculptures to which she dedicated all her free time. “I know. Once I want to talk with him, I will,” she answered, the tension in her voice palpable. Hoping that Oromis would leave, she returned her attention to her creation – an icy spine – which hovered slightly above the stone. With precisely measured strokes, she made it look more and more realistic.

“Please, forgive me. I keep seeing her in you, while you are in fact more like me. I know it is not something you want to hear, but you will not make it disappear. We can ignore it all we want, but reality always tugs us down. At least, it did for me. I will never forgive myself for not being there for you,” Oromis said miserably. The weight of his worries was clearly visible on him, an immovable burden resting on his shoulders.

Marzanna slowly dropped her arm from the icy spine to her side. Her gaze fell toward the ground. She stayed silent. Oromis slowly walked toward her. Each step he took increased the tension in her shoulders, as if she prepared to protect herself. He either did not notice it, or decided to ignore it. He looked over her work.

“I have to admit, you are very precise. You managed to capture the correct number of vertebrae,” her father analysed, a teacher at heart.

She snorted at his doubt. “After almost one hundred years of my butcher work in battles, one would think capturing organs and bones in detail is not a problem,” she answered simply.

Oromis pressed his lips into a thin line, divided between staying or just giving up. In the end, his patience won. “I believe I am correct in assuming you want to capture how the spine looks in a living person. Those you have seen are not in that state. In my young age, I studied elven bodies constantly, wanting to capture how every muscle moves.” He gestured to two points in the icy spine. “There, for example, is supposed to have a little more of a curve.”

Marzanna scowled. “I do not need it to be exactly how it is in a living being, since it is not going to be part of a living body.”

“Oh, so you are making a body like the one Boreas uses? We use the spine to support us. I am not sure I understand why a completely solid ice body needs a spine.” Oromis asked, very interested in the subject.

His daughter just shrugged. “I had to add something like a spine to his already existing body the moment we made it. Boreas complained that he had terrible control over legs. I believe there are some quicker connections or decision centres outside of the brain, which cooperate with signals from the legs. And it has to be in the spine, because the problem disappeared once I added it.”

Oromis nodded happily. Eventually, they fell into a comfortable rhythm, Marzanna creating the torso around the spine, while her father occasionally helped her - very carefully, so as not to damage anything, but effectively. Sometimes he asked about her techniques as well. Since there was no need for a reproductive or digestive system, it was not necessary to add them and create more weak spots. On the other hand, she had to create lungs so the body could breathe, thus talk. Other times, Marzanna asked about anatomical things she did not understand and Oromis gladly explained them to her. Neither noticed how the time flew by.

Later, Marzanna fished a white gemstone out of her pocket, wordlessly levitating it above the spine, where a skull would usually be. Oromis frowned.

“I am aware you can use wordless magic, but you should avoid it as much as possible. You use it automatically, but what if you are in a battle and get distracted, and the spell goes wrong and harms your own people?”

“It has never happened before. Even in the battle of the Burning Plains it did not happen,” she said darkly. Her brows furrowed, almost connecting at the middle. Subconsciously her hand flew toward the tips of her ears – pointed once more.

Her father nodded sadly. “Eragon told me of that battle, but perhaps he skipped some details. Could you fill me in?”

“There is not much to tell. We were fighting, crushing our enemies. Then Thorn and Murtagh arrived, and we could all see that he would defeat Eragon. I could not let that happen. So, I left my men and found a good spot to shoot from. I knew my sword could pass through most magical barriers. So I shot it at Thorn, but I knew it was too heavy to fly quick and high. I had to alter its route with spells. Once the sword went through Thorn, I used another one to get the sword to me. But that tired me greatly, so when the Urgals ambushed me, I was not able to fight them off. I knew they were not my men. Those are… were...loyal,” she explained with a bitter sadness in her voice that she tried to mask.

It was obvious Marzanna needed to be alone. Oromis decided to leave her in the backyard garden. Before he completely disappeared from earshot, he heard her say, “One day, Oromis, I would like to know you as my father, and hear more about my mother. I am not ready for it yet, but once I am….” She paused for a while. “We never know how much time we have left with those precious to us.”

_+BREAK+_

It has been some time since the trio started their training. Eragon felt like a walking encyclopedia, full of the knowledge he had absorbed in such a short time. He was proud on his progress, but he knew he still had a lot of space to improve. In the end, they all made great progress, yet Murtagh and Marzanna still couldn't seem to open their mind and listen to nature.

Their state after a few weeks of training was worse than Eragon’s in the beginning. The trouble was that both of them were used to living behind the walls of their mind, refusing to leave, refusing to risk the only piece of themselves they had left.

No matter how Oromis scolded them, they simply did not improve. One day, even Oromis’ incredible patience had run out.

“That’s enough. You waste our precious time. I have given you both enough time to open your minds yourselves. We must try some other way. I want you both to go to the forest and open your mind to the other. Do not come back until you know why the other hides behind his walls,” Oromis said in a tone which refused protests.

Murtagh seemed torn between annoyance and joy, happy to finally have Marzanna alone. The latter won in the end. A dark smile formed on his lips.

Marzanna gaped at her father, noting Murtagh's expression. “What? You cannot make me do that!” Oromis turned on his heel, motioning for Eragon to come with him, and left the pair outside.

They stared at each other for a while before Marzanna whipped around and stormed into the forest.

“Wait, Marzanna! We need to talk!” Murtagh shouted after her with a deep frown on his face.

“There is nothing to talk about,” answered Marzanna without turning her head.

Murtagh chased after her long, quick strides. Each time he might have been able to catch her, she ducked behind another tree. He began to get angry as well. He would not be ignored today. “Toobad. I am not letting you inside my mind until we talk.”

“We will be here for a long time, then” the she-elf fired back at him as she wove her way through the forest, shaking Murtagh off her trail. She turned her head to check how far away he was.

When he was nowhere to be seen, she released a breath of relief. She had to avoid him at all costs. Maybe she could persuade her father to let allow her to try on her own again.

As she turned back around, her body collided with someone. Marzanna found herself suddenly wrapped in two strong arms and slammed against a tree. Murtagh placed his hands on her back to cushion the impact. He pinned her to the tree with his chest so she could not wriggle her way out.

“Allow me to disagree. We are not going to be here for long. I am willing let you in my mind, but only if we talk. I am done with being ignored,” Murtagh said through clenched teeth. He tried not to show her the incredible relief her closeness gave him, how the loneliness embedded inside his chest seemed to wash away, how the icy thread binding them together seemed to blossom and grow stronger with every touch.

Naturally, Marzanna tried to free herself, but to no avail. When she resigned herself to the futility, she stared back at her captor defiantly. An over-confident smirk appeared on her face. “You believe I will ever allow you inside my mind? I have many more years of experience than you. I can withstand any pressure.”

Murtagh smiled darkly. He leaned forward, brushing her cheek as he almost whispered in her ear, “I have been there before. I can find my way back easier than you think.” His voice was deep and soothing, rumbling inside his chest. It was even hard to say if he was still talking about their minds. “I've finally managed to get you alone. I am not letting you go so easily.”

“You forget that I am a Rider as well. I am never alone,” she said with a smirk plastered on her face.

That seemed to throw Murtagh off. He was about to pull away, not wanting to battle Boreas, when a wicked smile appeared on his face. Instead, he pressed his body closer to hers. “Marzanna,” he whispered, savouring the name. “You love to pretend that neither of us can read you. Give us a little credit. I know for a fact that not even Oromis could hear Glaedr this far away. I doubt you can call Boreas now.”

The confident smirk was wiped away. “What do you insist on talking about, then?” she barked at him.

Murtagh was slowly getting drunk off her closeness, his body overjoyed. It felt as if to a thirsty man during the hottest day of the year had been given few sips of cold water. “Us,” the Red Rider said simply. “Why do you hate me?”

“Do you want to know the main reason, or all of them?” she snapped back. That pained him, but he stayed silent. “I blame you for killing my men. They were everything to me!” With her last sentence, she tried to push him away again, but to no avail.

“You know I did not kill them! I knew about the spell, but there was nothing I could do to stop it!” She just stared hatefully back at him. “You cannot blame me for that,” the Red Rider finished desperately.

For a while there was a silence. Marzanna did not bother to answer him. “Thanks to the worthless bond between us Boreas and I are stuck here! Now I have a new family member I never wanted, in a nation that hates me just because of some damned prophecy, and my identity is revealed. My people need me more than you do! But they will never accept me again. I was different than them before, but now the gap is too great to overcome. And it's all because of _you_!”

“Do not call it worthless! That bond means everything to me. You don’t know how it feels to lose everyone. My mother died and left me to an abusive father. Then my father died and left me to an abusive king. Then my loyal friend died, just so I could have freedom, which I just can’t seem to keep. I have never been as close to another person as I am to you. Suddenly, I am bonded to you. I am not alone anymore,” Murtagh finished.

For a fragment of a second there was compassion on Marzanna’s face, before it was hidden away under her usual cold mask. “If you were not under the bond, you would feel differently. You've said it yourself: you value freedom. And I've taken it away from you. Once Galbatorix is gone, I am breaking the bond. Again. Completely. Now let go of me.” Murtagh suddenly felt a sharp, freezing point on the side of his neck, prepared to pierce through.

He just sighed, defeated. “I felt differently before the bond was created. Now, it is much more valuable to me than my freedom. You made a fatal mistake when you created this. In order to protect you, it will always be one-sided. I have more control over it than I should. I will always fight for that last thread.”

With that, he pulled away and headed toward their ‘meditation’ spot, leaving Marzanna breathlessly behind to catch up with him.


	20. Ice meets Fire

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Beta-reader: Dragonblooded

**!!!18+ scene!!!**

“This is not easy for me,” Murtagh said anxiously, gulping air. He and Marzanna sat across from each other on the hard, cold, grass-covered ground. The she-elf’s expression was blank, seemingly emotionless.  “Maybe it will be easier if I tell you beforehand why I hide behind these walls, why I consider my mind my last and only sanctuary.”

There was silence as Murtagh struggled to pull the first sentences together, uncertain where to start. He opened his mouth a few times, but sealed his lips again moments later, almost as if he had lost his courage. Releasing a long breath, the Red Rider closed his eyes and slowly chewed out his first words.

“We all began as children. And every child has their own personal monster. They are visible only to those who care to look behind the child’s eyes. Whether we take them into adulthood or not depends on how real they truly are. I firmly believe that Eragon’s childhood nightmare was Hunger. I am fairly certain you know who my personal monster was.” Murtagh paused in his bitter muttering to chuckle darkly at the irony of his tale. “My beloved father.

“And even though he has been gone from my life for ages now, his memory is still latched onto me. Many things about him have started making sense to me. As a child, I did not understand why he would throw things at me. I kept blaming myself, thinking I did something wrong. It wasn’t until later that I understood it was part of his nature...and not my fault,” Murtagh said in a defensive tone. It was almost as if he was arguing with himself.

“He was a skilled swordsman, a terrifying opponent. Many people thought him undefeatable, and he enjoyed feeding that rumour. It was a part of his charm, seeming that way. The reason why he had never been beaten until his last battle lies somewhere else, though. I am not sure whether he was so drunk on immortality that he forgot he could still die, or if he was so confident that he thought himself above Death herself. It almost felt as though he never planned to die, which made him even more terrifying. He always chose a path so unlikely and risky that no one bothered to even consider the option.”

Murtagh’s voice sounded shallow, distanced, as though the past he spoke of was not his own. “From what I heard or witnessed one way or another, he was very popular with the noblewomen of the court. They swooned over him, adoring and loving him. He was a bright flame, and the ladies were moths attracted to its light, all wanting to touch it, until they got burnt. They never were more than that to him: a game. A game he enjoyed. He made them feel as if they had him wrapped around their fat fingers, while slowly stealing their wealth and secrets. Then he broke them. The only one who ever got to him was my mother Selena. I do not think he loved her, but he was certainly smitten with her, with her challenge, the likes of which he had not encountered until then.

He kept her around, using her skills to his advantage, while maybe convincing himself a little that he loved her. But all the time, he unconsciously searched for her weakness. And eventually, he found one. The moment I was born was the day my mother became vulnerable to him.

His favourite pastime was blackmailing her into doing his bidding with a threat on my life. Once he pushed me out of the tower window when my mother refused to obey him. He did not stop my fall until I had almost reached the ground. I cannot even count how many nights I spent shivering under a blanket listening to his drunken shouts, hoping that he would forget my existence. So many times I watched his shadow under the door, praying that he would not realize I was there. If he did, he dragged me out of bed and chased me around his castle, throwing various things at me. I did not understand why I had to run. I just knew I had to or it would hurt. I remember always pushing to run quicker, the fear of tripping as vases shattered around my head. One day, he decided to throw his sword at me. And he hit. If it wasn’t for a healer, I would not be alive.” The pain in Murtagh’s voice was almost palpable, no matter how hard he tried to obscure it. No matter how much he wanted to distance himself, it was never enough. Even though he had since become a feared warrior himself, right in that moment, he was a hurt, unloved child, abandoned and thrown into a cold world of terrors no child should know of.

“So many times I wished I hadn’t been saved. I would not hold it against my mother if she had wished I did not exist. But no matter how much time we spent together, I loved her dearly. And when she decided to save Eragon while leaving me behind, only returning to die there, I felt all my hopes of at least feeling loved shatter,” Murtagh growled through clenched teeth, his voice laced with pain and anger. It would never matter how many days or years had passed; the bitter feeling never disappeared, the pain of betrayal never went away.

As he talked, the walls surrounding his mind slowly started to melt away, revealing its soft well-guarded inside, with all its weaknesses, insecurities, and fears.

Murtagh did not notice as his mind started pulling Marzanna’s gently in, as if craving its touch after so many years in its protective cage. As he talked, his mind supplied various memories from his early life to fill the gaps. He showed her how much relief and guilt he had felt when his father died. He showed her how manipulative the king turned out to be, and how much pain he had felt when his dear friend died to pay for Murtagh’s freedom.

His past started slowly merging into his present. His thoughts grew less dim once he met Eragon. There seemed to be shards of light scattered across his thoughts that were immediately doused by his recapture.

After that, his world seemed to spin deeper into a maze on despair, anger, and sorrow, his thoughts growing darker and darker. The sequence continued, slowly changing from a black to an angry red, and in a short time, an almost romantic pink, the light he had started to see Marzanna in after the threads between them were formed.

For the first time in his life, he had felt he was special to someone, and that, maybe, it was finally his turn to be loved. Murtagh had never realized how he needed to feel that way until it seemed to present itself to him, and now, he was not able to let go of it. Despite what Marzanna had made him endure, his admiration and desire for her only seemed to keep growing.

Suddenly their minds, which until then had felt almost like one, separated. “Murtagh, stop,” Marzanna said with a broken voice.

“Stop what?” Murtagh asked softly, his adoration plastered on his face for anyone to see. He moved closer to hug her, but her hand stopped him.

“Stop showing me this,” she answered defensively. There was hesitation in her voice.

The Red Rider just smiled gently and inveigled her mind back into his before carefully taking her hand and making her feel their bond through their minds. Where their skin touched, it felt like fireworks to Murtagh, and through his mind, to Marzanna as well. The void inside his chest seemed to be chased away, her closeness making him feel like a complete person. Her cold touch made him feel warm.

Marzanna’s eyes were shut tightly, almost as if she was in pain. Ignorance is always the more comfortable solution. The weight of the knowledge of what she had done to him felt as if Glaedr himself was sitting on her conscience.

With a shaky breath, she tried to snatch her hand away from his grasp, but he was quicker, capturing the tips of her fingers. “Murtagh, please, let me go. And I do not mean only my hand.”

“Why?”

“You really need to ask why? I believe I understand you better than I did yesterday. I am not something you can fill the holes inside your heart with. I cannot replace what Morzan took away from you, or what your mother was not allowed to supply,” she whispered, almost brokenly. “What I am going to say now may be hypocritical, but… I am sorry I robbed you of your freedom, but I am not ready to part with mine yet. And you need someone who can heal you. I never was good at that.” With that, she freed her hand and turned to leave.

“I am not letting you slip through my fingers this time,” Murtagh called after her. Before Marzanna had time to process what he had said, she was tackled to the ground.

A loud, surprised yelp escaped Marzanna as she fell to the ground, but before the Red Rider was able to pin her, she managed to slip through his grasp and thrust her knee into his belly, flipping them over.

Soon, they were both wrestling for dominance. The adrenaline from the sudden fight helped them ignore the pain they felt through their connected minds.

In the end, Murtagh managed to slip his arm around Marzanna’s waist from behind. With his other arm pushed under her collar bone, he managed to pin her to the ground with her back to his chest. Both Riders were out of breath, but it did not stop the she-elf from trying to free herself. She struggled in Murtagh’s grasp, but was unable to throw him off.

“Just stop,” begged the Red Rider. “I know we would need an eternity to figure this out before you gave in, but let me show you how amazing it could be.” That did not stop her from struggling, but something else did.

Murtagh’s hand beneath her torso skilfully slid under her tunic and caressed her cold skin. He closed his eyes and let the fulfilling feeling of her closeness wash over him, while sending all of that into Marzanna’s mind.

Her body went completely still beneath him and he seized the chance to slip his other hand through the collar into her tunic. He wriggled slightly until he spread her legs to accommodate the width of his hips.

He nuzzled her neck, inhaling her scent, like the freezing cold air in the highest mountain range. He could not get enough of it. His raven black hair fell into his eyes when he bent down to kiss her neck and left a small, but visible love bite, fully enjoying the sparks he felt where their skin connected. A smile appeared on his face, knowing Marzanna was feeling it all as well.

“Turn your head,” commanded Murtagh. Marzanna obeyed, overwhelmed and confused by all the emotions flowing from him. The Red Rider smiled darkly and lowered his head to connect their lips.

Her lips tasted exactly as he remembered. Kissing her felt like arriving home, where he was wanted and welcomed. All of that in Marzanna’s mind made her gasp, allowing Murtagh to slip his tongue inside her mouth.

After a while, he broke their kiss, leaving her breathlessly stunned while he freed his hand to pull up her tunic. Shortly after, he quickly shrugged off his own so that their touching skin grew. He attached his lips to the nape of her neck and slowly started kissing his way down her spine.

Once he reached her lower back, he stopped, and without hesitation, pulled down her pants. She struggled against his grasp. “Patience, we will get there,” he murmured into her ear.

He kissed her again, slipping his hand between her legs, knowing exactly what he was searching for. His lips silenced her moan as he slid two of his fingers inside of her, her entire body tensing.

“No,” she pleaded in a shaky voice. But Murtagh did not even register it. Or maybe, did not want to admit he heard it.

Murtagh massaged her inner walls roughly with the pads of his fingers, knowing exactly where to touch her. He started moving his fingers in and out of her. Once he believed she was prepared enough, he undid his pants as well.

He positioned himself, but Marzanna, gathering all of her remaining resistance, tried to shake him off, struggling against his grip with more determination than before. She dug her fingers into the ground, desperately trying to claw her way out. She was able to crawl a few inches up before Murtagh’s hand slipped from beneath her to around her throat. He gently, yet firmly, pressed.

“Little one.” He pressed his lips against her ear, using the same pure endearment Boreas did for her. “Why are you fighting me?” His voice was laced with pain and disappointment. “I am just showing you that you can really love me.” He kissed her cheek gently as he secured her more.

Then, he slowly slipped inside of her. There was a slightly pained gasp from her, which made Murtagh wait for a few seconds before he proceeded.

It took some time before he made it all the way inside of her. When he was finally there, he straddled her legs while pressing the two of them tightly together. Then, he started to thrust in and out. He completely pinned her to the ground, his hands cupping her breasts.

“Can’t you feel how amazing it could be to be together?” he grunted between his movements. “I know you will love me one day. I will do anything for that.”

He picked up a pace that suited him, making his hips snap towards her quicker. He especially enjoyed drawing almost all the way out, leaving only his tip inside of her, then diving back in. At one moment, he recognized the tension starting to build in her body. Smiling, he kept his pace, knowing it would slowly bring her to her climax.

The moment he felt her walls pulsing around him, he bit down in the space between her shoulder and neck, needing to mark her. Her last pulse threw him over the edge as well. With his final thrust, he buried himself completely and came inside of her.

With an exhale, he hugged her tighter to himself, almost cuddling her on the hard ground, while slowly releasing the skin from between his teeth. “I love you,” he breathed out. No answer came, but he did not expect one.

As the minutes passed, Murtagh disconnected their bodies and helped her redress, doing the same to himself afterwards. Marzanna did not even lift her head to look at him, which confused Murtagh.

He closed his eyes and searched for the connection of their minds. To his surprise, her mind was not only a visitor inside his head anymore, but bared as well, completely vulnerable to anyone.

Since she would not look in his direction, he overlooked how her face betrayed her, showing so many emotions. He completely missed how her fear and pain were temporarily obscured by guilt.

But he was able to follow its trail inside of her mind, gliding his way through her confusing icy head, avoiding spiky glaciers of thoughts, to the source of her guilt. And soon, he found it. He saw flashes of a recent night, of his own half-brother’s hot skin against Marzanna’s.

Suddenly, it all clicked. The reason why Boreas had been so grumpy that one day, why Boreas chose Eragon to swordfight with him. It all made sense. The white dragon had known about it all along.

Murtagh’s entire world shattered to pieces in one single second, with one single memory. Every second he had spent that day with Marzanna suddenly turned bitter. His mental sanctuary suddenly felt violated. His mind was immediately sealed behind his protective walls again. His face twisted into a form of disgust and with a few long strides, he distanced himself from her.

“You just need everyone to want you, don’t you? You enjoy playing with us, because it makes us easier to manipulate, right? I bet if I had a third brother you would go down on him as well,” Murtagh spat at her angrily.

Marzanna sat up and for the first time, lifted her head. Her emotions were again hidden behind a cold mask, marred only by the tears frozen on the surface of her skin. “I never begged for this! And I never promised any of you my loyalty. I did not lie to you or deceive you!” Despite her words, she felt guilty of everything he blamed her for.

The Red Rider stared at her for a few moments before turning on his heel. “Once the king is dead, you will take this worthless bond away,” he said coldly.

_+BREAK+_

“Don’t you dare shut me out like this!” Boreas stormed into the garden behind Oromis’ hut in his ice form, prepared to give the she-elf a proper scolding. Marzanna’s face was void of any emotions. All her attention went towards the ice statue which she has been sculpting for some time already.

She paused for a moment, but did not lift her eyes from the icy hand in her lap. “I want to finish this, and distracting me is not going to help at all.”

When Boreas’ hand landed on her shoulder, Marzanna jerked to the side and tensed. Not a word was spoken. No one moved. Their mutual understanding and comfort eventually made the she-elf slowly relax under his hand.

The ice statue lithely slipped around to sit behind her, gently wrapping Marzanna’s tiny body into his arms. He sighed and said, “One would think you would have stopped pretending in front of me anymore, since I have known you for almost one hundred years now. What is wrong? I am willing to hold you until you tell me. Unlike you, I do not have physical needs in this body.” Boreas snickered, which made Marzanna chuckle slightly.

She leaned into his embrace, but did not say anything. The comfortable silence that settled between them lasted for almost an hour before she felt prepared to speak. “I believe karma is trying to catch up with me,” she whispered. Boreas acknowledged that with a hum, but did not interrupt her. “I did not see the extent of my actions, until Murtagh showed them to me today. The way I tied us together, it was like I gave a thirsty man a sip of water, but no more. It could never really satisfy his needs, but it made him crave it more. I tried to explain it to him, but he made me feel his side of the bond,” Marzanna said almost regretfully.

“What did he do?” Boreas growled out. He always expected malevolent intentions in others’ doing, especially if it concerned his Rider. She stayed silent, debating whether or not to tell him. His eyes fell to her neck, and he immediately noticed marks marring her perfectly white skin. He could feel the anger building up inside of him, making him restless. “What did he do?!” he snarled through clenched teeth.

“I did not expect to feel so much. It overwhelmed me,” Marzanna said in a defensive way. “He thought my inaction was me accepting him. I am not blaming him for anything. In the end, I used him as well. So now we are even.”

“What else went wrong?” he asked, obviously faking his calmness while his anger boiled inside. It was almost a surprise it did not melt the ice of his body. He was prepared to pick a fight with anyone, but preferably Murtagh.

“He found out about Eragon and got angry. I do not know what to do now,” Marzanna complained.

Boreas just shrugged. “Well, I could go kick his ass,” he supplied helpfully.

Another chuckle escaped Marzanna.

“Do you want me to?” he urged.

“I just want you to hold me for a while,” she answered quietly, feeling safer than ever in the arms of her soul-partner. A small smile found its way onto her face, Boreas immediately improving her mood.

To that he only brought her closer and nodded. “That was not a no,” he remarked.


	21. Interludium - The Malign Queen

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Beta-reader: Dragonblooded

We live in a world where certain laws can neither be broken nor overcome. But we do what humanity is best at: we overlook the most obvious things. It is easier than admitting the difficult truth. One of these suppressed concepts is the reality that the world is not painted black and white. It is grey. Some of us just turn darker at times. But rarely do we realize that to darken a colour, black must be added. This ignorance plays into the hands of powerful people, who feed it more to make us vulnerable to their manipulation. In the end, it’s the victors who write history. Throughout all archives of all races in Alagaësia, Queen Loviatar is coloured pure black, to symbolize the evil she was. No one looks deep enough to see the catalyst behind it all.

The elves of Du Weldenvarden were known for building the most beautiful cities in Alagaësia. Sudriergarde, known as Éwayëna before it was usurped by the Bloody Queen, was no exception. While in Norvedrgarde life started at sunset, the same rule did not apply to Sudriergarde. It lay too far from the reach of the northern forces, and the first rays of the sun tempted its inhabitants out of their houses.

The city was decorated and polished, prepared for the entourage of Queen Loviatar. After her mother’s unfortunate death, Loviatar was crowned at a young age, and the entirety of Alagaësia waited with anticipation for her maturity. While she was feared throughout the world for her familial madness, those who looked upon her could not find even a trace of insanity.

She was a good ruler, and her kingdom adored her. She was neither too hard nor too soft, the perfect monarch. Once she reached a certain age, she made the decision to visit people all over her kingdom.

The morning of her visit was unsually cold for Sudriergarde. The queen’s entourage neared the city, bringing the northern winds with them. “Halt!” shouted the queen from her horse’s back. The entire group of elves, chosen to protect their ruler and represent Norvedrgarde, stopped behind her. She stopped on the hill from which Sudriergarde’s water came. She looked down upon the city and revelled in the view.

On her command, the entourage set forth again, following their black-crowned queen.

They rode straight through the open gates into the city. The elves around them greeted them with joy, appreciating their queen’s interest. With crystal-clear laughter and smiles they surrounded them, leading them towards the middle of the city, where its statehouse – the castle Red Lilly – stood. It was the seat of local Lord and Protector of Sudriergarde.

The parade stopped and Loviatar looked around for her guards. “May I offer myself to your services, my queen?” A young elf approached confidently, with a slightly cocky smile. When she nodded, he gently wrapped his hands around her waist and helped her off of her horse. Loviatar slightly stumbled, but he steadied her against his chest, holding her there for a few seconds more than necessary.

But once his arms loosened around her form, he disappeared into the crowd. She made a mental note to find him later to show her gratitude.

Suddenly, the crowded parted as the Lord of Sudriergarde made his way towards his monarch.

“My queen,” he addressed her, greeting with her in the proper elven manner. “It is a huge honour to accept you as our guest. I can imagine your throats have been irritated by the dust from the roads. Please, accept our best wine to moisten your tongues.”

Loviatar showed no emotion, instead looking somewhat coldly over the lord, but accepted the wine given to her. The entire entourage feasted on the served wine, enjoying it after the tiring journey, and the queen soon joined them, giving in to the pleasure as well. The wine was rather heavy with a bittersweet aftertaste to it, but even water would have tasted like heaven in that moment.

“I am afraid I did not hear your name.” the queen said sternly.

“Belwaÿne.”

“I am afraid, Belwaÿne-vodhr, this is the first time I have heard of you. I was not aware the city was left in your hands. May I know what happened to Protector Tarlliene-elda?” She used a tone that did not allow any space for excuses.

For a second, there was a dangerous spark in Belwaÿne’s eyes, but in the end he only smiled politely and replied, “Unfortunately, she is no longer amongst us. She often indulged in experiments with plants. With one misstep, she had poisoned herself. Tarlliene did not leave anyone to look after the city. The locals decided to entrust me with the care of this beautiful city,” Belwaÿne explained.

Loviatar took another sip and shook her head. “Why was I not informed?”

“We deemed it unnecessary to annoy you with such minute problems, when we were able to take care of them.” He chose his words carefully, slowly spelling them out.

“Allow me to remind you, Belwaÿne-vodhr,” she said coldly, “We are a kingdom, and all of its inhabitants, you included, respond only to their monarch and to those chosen by the same monarch. I want to look over everything in this city. We will see if you really are capable of your position. So far, I do not think you are. Why should I leave you in command when you do not inform me of your doings? For example, when did we start trading with dwarves?” She walked towards him, with her head held proudly high, her guards following her.

Muscles in Belwaÿne’s face twitched, fighting back contempt. In the end, he masked it with confusion. “Pardon me? Trading with dwarves?”

“Belwaÿne.” She dropped the proper address. “Do not make of me an idiot,” she growled dangerously. “I can tell this is not elven nor human wine. I doubt dragons in their free time harvest grapes. Dwarves have refused to trade with us since my ancestor took one of their cities. So, why was I not informed of their change of heart?”

The elf bowed down his head. “Forgive me, my queen, I shall correct my wrongs with time.” He paused for a while. “You must be tired after your journey. Please, allow my son Vanyali to take you to your chambers while I care for your guards.” The tension in Belwaÿne was almost palpable. It seemed as if he was, all of sudden, rather rushed.

The youth who helped her off of her horse appeared next to Belwaÿne, a pleased, cocky smirk on his face again. As the crowded around them thinned out, he approached her and leaned in rather closely. “Might I beg you to follow me, my queen?” He winked at her and confidently took her hand, pulling her in the direction of the Red Lily.

And she followed.

“I am obligated to thank you for your help before,” she slowly chewed out.

Vanyali just smirked again and looked at her. “It was a _pleasure_ , my queen.” After letting it sit for a few seconds, he continued, “We do not have much time together, but while we walk to your chambers, would you like to hear something about the Red Lily?”

The queen could only nod, taken aback by his directness.

He started talking, and she started listened. But not to the words or their meanings. Her sensitive ears heard that something was off. She politely waited for him to finish before asking.

“Here we are. I would love to follow you inside, but I am needed elsewhere.” He opened the door to her chambers and motioned for her to go inside.

She walked in, but turned to face him. She eyed him suspiciously. “Where are you from?”

He was about to say his goodbyes and part, but the question threw him off balance. “W-what?” He stuttered nervously. “Sudriergarde, of course.” He recovered quickly, but it was too late.

“Like father, like son? The apple does not fall too far from the tree. I am not dumb, nor blind nor deaf. Your accent is different. Your R’s are sharper and more pronounced, throatier. You are from the southwest. Ceris? Near the dwarves, yes?” She was so taken with her discovery that she did not notice the blood dripping from her nose.

That was all the youth needed to reveal the truth. His jaw tensed as he gritted his teeth. “We are the only hope of elves and dwarves alike.” He looked to the ground, a grimace marring his handsome face.

Suddenly, the ground swayed beneath Loviatar’s feet, and her head started to spin. Her knees refused to respond and broke under her weight, sending her to the ground. She tried to hold herself up with her arms, but they slowly lost feeling, collapsing completely. “Wha-wha..is..hapnin’?” Her blood covered her pale skin and painted her golden hair pink. The mind inside her body was still fully alert and aware, but her physical form slowly stopped obeying it. “H’lp me.”

Vanyali continued, ignoring the state of the queen. “For many years we waited for the opportunity to end your cursed bloodline. Look at yourself.” For the first time, his eyes snapped to her bloodied face. “Such foul blood, breeding only monsters. And you are one of them. You are like a plague to this world, and it was a real honour to help concoct a plan to rid it of you. It was so much _pleasure_ ,” he simpered, “To watch you drink the poison. I would love to see it kill you, but my father needs help with the corpses of your entourage.”

He knelt next to her and gently caressed her cheek, Loviatar unable to pull away. “Sweet dreams. Mine certainly will be.” Then, he got up and left. Only the mechanical lock of her chamber door was heard.

She was fully conscious, the poison sparing her mind, but trapping her inside a disposable body. As she slowly lost her sense of innervation, her thoughts were filled with bitterness, hate, and rage. Her intentions had been pure. She had aimed to be a good ruler, not wanting to follow the monstrous steps of her ancestors. But in that moment, she understood their decisions. They were not evil in the beginning, they were forged that way. The betrayal felt more and more profound with every second that passed. This could not be it. Her entire entity fought against the reality that she would die in a city filled with traitors, punished for the crimes of others, just because some feared her. Her magical inheritance had never even manifested, and all her loyal guards and the other cities she loved would succumb to her stupid mistake.

As her mind slowly started spinning towards madness, the black crown seemed to sparkle with joy, calling out towards its heir and its child, making it follow its light. And she obeyed, following the crown out of the maze of death which threatened to swallow her. Loviatar latched onto the light, and the poison was burnt out of her body. Its residue left only a terrible biting pain, constantly present inside her every bone.

When the youth returned later, expecting to find a corpse, the room was empty.

Loviatar managed to escape the city alone, abandoning her loyal guards. The pain inside her was eating her up alive. But, as a thirsty man searches for relief in a few drops of water, she stumbled up the same hill she had entered the city from. Unaware of what she was doing, she fell next to the stream of water.

With a pained moan, she reached forward with her hand, her eyes faded by a mist of insanity. She instinctually touched the water. To an outside eye, it looked no different, but inside, microscopically, the water was no longer intact. It had dissolved.

As if in a trance, Loviatar collected herself and disappeared for years.

The next day, Sudriergarde became lifeless. All traitors, and all loyal were found dead, blood from their nose smeared over their faces, empty eyes staring into distance. No one knew what had happened there that day. The city became no man’s land, never claimed. Those who returned to there died within weeks.

Norvedrgarde was well protected, thanks to the cursed forest surrounding it – the Night Queen’s doing. It was a surprise for all when they found the near-dead Loviatar at its gates a few years after her disappearance. In her absence, Qybern had responded for the Winter Kingdom, and he managed to nurse her back to health.

She earned the title Malign Queen in memoriam, as three waves of plague wreaked havoc on humans, especially in Palancar Valley, where many were forced to migrate south. An era of poisoners started amongst the dwarves when she was on the throne, and the elves were hit with a wave of famine, forcing them to eat meat for the first time in their history.

We can only question whether something, if made differently, would avert the terrible fate thrust upon her, and by that, thrown on the three races as well. We should always remember that our actions may have a deeper impact than we believe. Who knows what terrible fate we may be catalyst to.

 


	22. As the Winter Sets

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Beta-reader: Dragonblooded

With a rattling so loud it made bones quiver the gates to Uru’baen opened. Anyone in their range immediately disappeared into the closest shelter. That was what living in the capital of the Empire did to people. It gave them a certain survival instinct.

The dirty road started to echo with loud thuds as a group of riders neared the capital. All was carefully observed by a pair of eyes from a place no one ever thought to look. There, beneath the stairs leading to the tavern, was a small boy. The dirt from the ground glued to his face and matted his hair and fell into his eyes, but no matter the irritation, he kept them opened.

The boy probably had not seen more than twelve winters, yet despite his young age, his mind was disciplined. It was well masked from others, and his thoughts were perfectly guarded behind strong protective walls. He attentively watched as a welcoming unit of soldiers emerged from the centre of the town, prepared to meet the horsemen.

Every possible detailed they offered the boy noted. Any word the soldiers let out of their mouths was heard and remembered, in high hopes of it being useful. Then, the boy’s eyes snapped to the gate and his pupils widened. For a moment, he even forgot to breath. His entire body started shaking, and he seemed to completely forget how to properly inhale and exhale.

The infamous Lord Barst had arrived at Uru’baen.

“My Lord, wel-,” one of the welcoming soldiers tried to say, but was immediately interrupted by the harsh voice of Lord Barst.

“There is no time for these useless speeches. Lead me to his Majesty. We need to speak, urgently.” The older man carefully inspected his surroundings, almost automatically searching for any potential trap or attack.

The soldier gulped nervously and slowly took a step back, as to not draw too much of the attention of the feared man, who currently seemed to be too taken by some stairs to a tavern. The boy beneath them did not even dare wink. “King Galbatorix insists you get your rest, so ple-.”

Lord Barst’s head snapped to the soldier, almost burning a hole through him with his glare. “Listen, you stupid boy,” he growled out. “The Varden is currently marching on Uru’baen, successfully starving our army in Dras-Leona. We need to act now! The stupid farm boy and his dragon are not with them. And haven’t been for weeks. They are vulnerable.”

The soldier decided to bet that the king would be more occupied with the war than with his disobedience, than to risk Lord Barst’s anger. He proceeded to lead them all away.

It was another hour before the life on the streets was restored again. The boy patiently waited for his chance to quietly slip from his shelter, sweat sticking his brown hair to his forehead. Trying to look inconspicuous, he hurried through the small alleys, avoiding people at all cost. He did not dare look behind his shoulder, despite all his senses screaming at him to do so, knowing that that exactly would attract attention.

He felt a tingling at the nape of his neck. The hair there stood up. His heart was beating frantically inside his chest, which felt as if it was getting tighter and tighter against it.

“Hello there,” a cheeringly velvet voice called from behind him. The boy froze in place. He was certain he could not hear the blood running loudly inside his veins, but he was still fightened. Slowly, he turned to face the voice’s owner. “You seem like exactly the one I was looking for,” said the man with a wide smile, the rest of his face hidden behind his cape.

The boy pulled on the best sneer he had. “What do you want? My mum does not want me to speak to strangers. Go away or I’ll call the soldiers.”

“Aw, come on,” the stranger said, acting offended. “Where are the manners of today’s youth?” He sighed. “In the end, I am actually doing you a favour. I am just trying to make things easier. I would have had to follow you, which is so very annoying. This way, you should reward my honesty by bringing me to your friend,” finished the man almost excitedly.

The boy paled. “I-I do not know what you are talking about.” The man just shook his head and pushed himself from the wall. With slow, lilting steps he made his way to the boy, who tried to keep his distance, but his small legs were not enough.

“Well, at least you are a better spy than a liar,” the man said as he walked. “Now, could we skip this annoying procedure where you try to persuade me with lies, and could you lead me to your friend? Or wherever you speak with them?”

“Who-who are you?” the boy asked in a quivering tone. “Stay away, old man!” he spat defensively.

The man minimized the distance between them and bent slightly at the knees, leaning over the boy. “Rude!” the man said, faking offense. “Besides, I am younger than you.” And then, he very maturely stuck his tongue out at the boy, who gave him a confused frown. To that, the man only reacted with a sad sort of expression, almost as if he had been told dragons did not exist, and the world was dull and magic-less. “And I had such high hopes for you. Anyway, I suppose I used to be Weiden. But not anymore.” The man chuckled darkly. “You can call us Letho.” He flashed a bright smile at the boy, and for the first time, crimson eyes shone from within the darkness of the cape.

The boy opened his mouth to scream, but a cold pale hand immediately pressed against it, cutting him off. “Shhh, there’s no need to cry; I just need your friend to scry,” Letho rhymed, humming to himself. He started dragging the boy through the mazes of the town, finding his way around far too easily. In the end, he slipped through a secret passage out of the town, knowing exactly where the boy had been heading.

He had been observing him for far longer  than he let on. He led the boy away from the city, on the same route the boy took almost every day. Letho obviously enjoyed having someone to listen to him. “How can you stand having your mind so locked? It used to be so lonely up there, before we became Letho. Now, when they say the king’s new shoes are made of children’s skin, one voice says how soft they must be, and the other says how terribly cliché they are, and another one argues that we should make one as well.” Letho studied the boy. After almost a minute of tense silence, the boy almost near fainting, the man laughed. “I am just making fun of you. You children are so easily tricked.” He shook his head.

Over the course of their trip, it became obvious Letho either loved to listen to the sound of his voice or simply talked too much. Eventually, they arrived at a small pond. Letho looked expectantly at the boy, who had frozen to his spot. With a loud, impatient exhale, the man said, “Terrible, terrible, if you want something done, you have to do it yourself. Then, he looked suspiciously around the area. His eyes snapped to the boy, then back to their surroundings. Without hesitation, he walked over to a pile of stones.

The boy watched with shock in his eyes as Letho uncovered a small mirror. “Give it back!” he shouted, running towards Letho to tackle him down. The man just lifted his hand against the boy’s incoming head, holding him far from his body with his palm.

As if he had not even noticed his ‘attacker’, he continued, “So, how do you open this? Do you just call ‘Nasuada’ or what?” The moment he finished, their reflection flickered and disappeared. In its place appeared Nasuada’s office. Soon, the mentioned one rushed into the picture. A confusion crossed her face.

“Damien?” She asked carefully, scared to attract unwanted attention.

It was too late for that. “You are Damien? I thought you were… did you even tell me your name?” asked Letho, almost surprised by the realization. Damien stopped fighting and just shook his head defiantly.

“Hello?” Nasuada called again from the mirror.

“Ah, forgive me, Nasuada.” Letho spoke her name with a passion that made her obviously uncomfortable. “So, it seems your favourite farm boy and his lizard pet are out of your reach. Please, don’t tell Shruikan I call dragons that.” Nasuada gave him an even more confused look, frowning in almost-disgust.

“Who are you? And what do you want?” she asked, hoping to get a straight answer out of the stranger.

Letho took his time answering her questions. “What a lovely nightdress,” he called out, smiling wickedly. “It would look great on my bedroom floor.” His eyes flashed to the boy. “Don’t listen to that. Adults talking.” Once again, his attention was back to Nasuada. “You are the only thing on my to do list tonight.” He winked at her.

Nasuada opened her mouth, her face suggesting pure offense. But in a second, Letho’s expression had become completely serious. He interrupted her.

“Anyway, I would really suggest you change. Because I am coming to get youuu,” he sang. His hand combed through Damien’s hair as an evil smile formed on his face. His nails dug into the boy’s scalp and with inhuman strength, he snapped his neck. Damien was not even able to yelp before his lifeless body fell to the ground.

The movement pulled Letho’s cape down, revealing short crimson hair, pale skin, and the bloodiest eyes in the entire world. He slowly turned his head back to the mirror, his smile deepening. He looked up and revelled in how Nasuada froze instantly.

There was a loud screeching as Nasuada quickly jumped from her chair. “Get Eragon! Immediately! We need a _shadeslayer_!” No one listened to the mirror anymore. The Shade was already on its way to wreak havoc on the Varden.

_+BREAK+_

The veil of night fell over Du Weldenvarden, wrapping it in its satin embrace. With the last rays of sunlight disappeared the sounds of life, the darkness engulfing them as if nature knew what had happened that unfortunate day, and in turn, created a grieving, unnaturally silent night. Not even nocturnal predators were heard; even they cowered from a far larger beast, silently but not unnoticeably searching the air.

Murtagh’s sleep was rather restless. He tossed and turned, but no matter what, he could not find peace. The events of the day haunted him even in his dreams, fuelled by anger and betrayal. Yet, somewhere in the background of his dream was guilt as well. He deeply regretted the words he had said to Marzanna. The bond they shared had turned bitter, but even a bitter taste can still be enjoyable at times. He was angry with her; he considered her to be his, and he did not plan to share. He had to come to terms with Boreas.

Suddenly, his eyes snapped open. Fully alert, he looked over the room, searching for the disturbance. He woke up Thorn with a gentle poke into his mind. Suspiciously, he eyed his surroundings. He fully trusted his instincts, which had saved him many times from certain death. Adrenaline was pouring into his system in loads, and he carefully reached for his sword.

For a few tensed minutes, nothing happened. While it lulled Thorn, it did not fool Murtagh. Then, it came.

A loud, rhythmic sound, reminding him of thunder. It took Murtagh only a few seconds to identify it. Wings. The beating wings of a huge dragon. He could think of only three dragons who could make so much noise. He crossed two off the list due to distance, and knowing Glaedr would have waited for the day. The last one, though, had a logical reason for a night-time visit.

 _Seems like Boreas has decided to honour us with his presence,_ Murtagh grumbled to Thorn angrily as he got up from his bed, securing Zar’roc around his waist.

Thorn got up as well, but there was a palpable tension in his body. He had already learnt that having Boreas on one’s bad side tended to be rough. _And you don’t seem that surprised. What did you do?_ he retorted, already sensing Boreas’ mind getting closer.

A loud thud, as if there was an avalanche, was heard from outside. They could feel the temperature drop immediately. _What makes you think I have done something wrong? She cheated on me, not the other way around,_ Murtagh shot back, revealing something he had until then hid from his dragon. _She was leading me on. After she seduced me into sleeping with her, I found out she had an affair with Eragon as well,_ he sullenly added as an afterthought, revealing to Thorn how hurt he actually was.

 _I do not doubt you, but is that all? I do not see why that would make Boreas visit us this late,_ Thorn asked carefully. Murtagh glared at him, offended, and did not answer his question.

Outside, there was rustling. “Murtagh! Stop hiding in that rabbit hole of yours. I will get you one way or another. Come out and face me!” Boreas shouted from the outside, not bothering to mask his anger. A nerve inside Murtagh’s cheek twitched, but he did not move. He knew exactly how vindictive Boreas was.

“Where are you, Murtagh? Are you afraid to face the consequences? You should have realized this would come your way the moment you harmed my Rider!” That did its job. It tempted the Red Rider out.

The last sentence made Murtagh’s blood boil. Without thinking any further, he stormed out angrily, Thorn immediately following for protection. There, in front of a mountain of white scales stood the ice-form of Boreas. His expression was stormy and the anger inside his eyes flared even more at the sight of Murtagh.

Boreas eyed Thorn and chuckled darkly. “Really? I face you in this degrading human form and you need Thorn to protect you?” He shook his head. It was obvious he thought Murtagh inferior as he looked back at him with disgust in his face.

“I did not harm her! What is your problem anyway? Shouldn’t you be happy? Now she is all yours and Eragon’s. The most I could have done to harm her was rejecting our bond,” Murtagh spat back in answer. Thorn growled at Boreas. Deep down somewhere, he was scared of the white dragon, but he would fight him for Murtagh.

The ice-statue growled back. Despite his new size, the growl sounded just as threatening as if it had come from his normal body. “Step back, Thorn - you do not want to challenge me. I promise I will not kill or disable your Rider. But he has to pay for what he did to Marzanna. You would have searched for justice for Murtagh if it was the other way around,” Boreas commanded Thorn with an authoritative voice.

The Red Dragon was visibly uncomfortable, but stood behind his Rider the entire time. Boreas chuckled unbelievingly. “Don’t tell me you are with him on this. He raped my Rider!” the ice-statue shouted angrily.

For a fraction of a second, Thorn was confused. The word was unfamiliar to him. But soon, he understood it. The word swam towards the surface of Murtagh’s mind. “That’s not true,” said Murtagh in disbelief, his voice cracking. “She gave me… her… consent,” he finished, lost in his memory as he searched for any sign of Marzanna’s confirmation.

Boreas used the distraction to minimize the distance between them, attacking Murtagh. His ice-hard fist connected with its target.

Murtagh shouted in pain as the impact sent him staggering backward. He repressed the urge to touch his hurt eye, which immediately started to swell. Instead, he reached for his sword, but Boreas did not hesitate. He was on him right away. The ice-statue stayed close to the Red Rider, making it harder for Thorn to separate them.

They rolled on the ground for a while, both fighting for dominance while trying to hit the other as much as possible. Boreas did not bother to control himself at all, letting his rage do the work. He managed to get back on his feet, dragging Murtagh up with him, while holding his back to his icy chest and pressing his forearm to the Red Rider’s throat. The latter was bruised, with a split lower lip. He had managed to hurt his knuckles as he tried to hurt Boreas as well. It was futile to hit an ice block.

Without fear, Boreas faced the angry red dragon. “Go on, set us on fire. My energy resources might run out earlier than this drajl’s. I might melt. Or, you could accidentally kill your Rider. Though, there would be no loss in that,” said the white dragon, with so much hatred in his voice.

Murtagh tried to claw the icy forearm from his throat as he ran out of air. Before Thorn was forced to attack them both in order to save him, Murtagh managed to thrust the hilt of Zar’roc into Boreas’ icy body, which, to everyone’s surprise, cracked, and the diamond in the pommel went inside.

As he freed and distanced himself from Boreas, Thorn immediately reacted with a mighty swipe of his paw. The ice-statue flew away from them. The pair prepared for another attack, but the body just lay there lifelessly.

They were too focused on Boreas’ ice-form to pay attention to their surroundings. Too late they noticed a huge white head turning to face them.

“No!” shouted Murtagh, raising his arm in a futile attempt to save himself. Thorn barely managed to cover his Rider under his wing before a huge wave of ice crashed over them.

_+BREAK+_

Soon after the morning approached, Eragon and Saphira appeared on the horizon on time for their scheduled lessons. They were expected by Oromis, who sat in his usual spot drawing a detailed sketch. The white and golden dragons were already there. From afar, they looked like a pair of lazy cats napping next to each other. When Saphira with Eragon approached them, they shuffled somewhat annoyed closer to each other to make space for her to land.

All of a sudden, Saphira spun and twisted and performed the most elegant landing possible. Eragon felt her hope that she might impress Boreas enough to at least pay her more attention. The Blue Rider would usually have teased her for it, but in the end, he was grateful he was still in his seat.

Satisfied with herself, she looked up to Boreas, to only see him yawning in his sleep. Eragon felt her disappointment very clearly. _He doesn’t deserve you, my loved one. It was a wonderful landing, though I would appreciate some warning beforehand,_ Eragon tried to salvage her wounded pride.

Saphira did not answer, but sent appreciation his way. Eragon smiled weakly and cradled his own hopes. Since Murtagh and Thorn hadn’t arrived yet, he had a chance to talk with Marzanna. But she was nowhere to be seen. He could feel his heart ache.

Ever since their night together, Marzanna had avoided him at all costs. He did not dare let their affair distract him during their lessons, but she was basically untraceable after them. And with each day that passed, he could feel them growing more distant. It reminded him of his infatuation with Arya. He had to wonder why he was so unsuccessful in the field of love.

As they waited for Murtagh and Thorn, Eragon busied himself with the memory of the night. A dreamy smile appeared on his face. Ever since, it had been a favourite pastime. He did not pay any attention to how much time passed.

After almost an hour of waiting, Oromis started to look more concerned than angry with how much time had been wasted.

 _I don’t think they’re arriving anytime soon,_ Boreas drawled in a rumbling lazy voice, which made Eragon’s mind shake thoroughly, drawing him from his stupor.

Oromis’ eyes snapped to the white dragon, alarmed. “What do you mean by that?” asked the silver-haired elf, his expression forming into a neutral mask.

 _They might need a little bit more sun for that,_ the white dragon answered casually, as if nothing had happened. As he exhaled, his icy breath added even more layers to the snow-covered ground. Oromis stared at him in shock.

The old elf quickly stood up and walked fearlessly towards the huge dragon. “What did you do to them?” For the first time, Eragon heard Oromis’ voice quiver with anger. Glaedr’s loud growl added another dimension to the old elf’s rage.

It did nothing to Boreas, who stared defiantly back. _Nothing they didn’t deserve._

“Why? Why would you hurt them? What makes you better than Galbatorix if you do such things?” Oromis’ voice sounded almost broken, as if all his beliefs had vanished into the air.

While Boreas was obviously offended, he did not act upon his anger. _For the same reason Marzanna is going with me to my lessons, starting today. It is up to them if they want to explain this, Ebrithil. But I suppose for the sake of their own survival, they won’t._

Oromis gaped at him before he released a disbelieving breath. He climbed onto Glaedr and looked towards Eragon, gathering his wits. “Eragon, go find Vanir and start your lesson with him today. Tell him I am sending you.” With that, Glaedr spread his wings and took off.

Boreas just folded himself into a more comfortable position and carried on napping. Saphira soon followed Glaedr’s suit, but instead headed towards Ellesméra. As Eragon turned back, he caught a glimpse of an unusual shimmering behind Oromis’ hut.


	23. Winter in Summer

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Beta-reader: Dragonblooded

Even though he had been sent directly to the training field to spar with Vanir, Eragon decided to make a small stop. Saphira waited for him in their house, thinking it unnecessary to attract the attention of the elves who had not left for the war.

The weather was cold, but as he walked through the streets of Ellesméra, he noted that nature was waking from its deep winter slumber. His surroundings were so peaceful that for a while, he forgot about the war raging over Alagaësia. About the war which he had basically started.

Eragon frowned. It had been some time since he had last heard from the Varden. Anxiety crawled into his heart and clutched at it tightly. They had been way too long without his protection. He needed to do something about it, but it was not the time.

His legs carried him towards the gardens of Tialdarí Hall, hoping to catch Arya. They had not seen each other since the trial. He walked through the paths between trees and flowers, but stopped himself when he heard familiar voices. Silently, he manoeuvred himself to see through a gap between branches.

There stood Queen Islanzadí and Arya. They seemed to be in a heated argument. “You need to listen to me, Arya,” the queen almost pleaded. “Someone has to do it. I believe in you. You have proved yourself to be competent enough for this task. I do not doubt you will succeed,” she finished with utmost certainty. She dropped a well familiar green sword into Arya’s arms, who cradled it as a newborn.

Arya’s uncertainty seemed to vanish with the sword in her arms. “I do not approve of this, but I will not disappoint you, mother. For the greater good,” she said firmly, nodding.

“For the greater good,” the queen answered proudly. With that, she kissed her daughter’s forehead and left.

Arya stood there for a while, just holding the sword, looking down at it with so much admiration and appreciation that Eragon wished someone would look at him the same way. Soundlessly, he tried to crawl away, realizing he had overheard something he shouldn’t have.

“Come here, Eragon. You shouldn’t have listened to that,” Arya called, looking up from the sword in. The Blue Rider froze in his spot, but eventually stepped out of hiding, ashamed.

“I apologize. It was not my intention to eavesdrop. I just wanted to see you. It has been a long time, Arya Svit-kona.” Eragon lowered his eyes to the ground in shame.

Arya was silent for a while, looking at him suspiciously. In the end, she nodded and asked, “Why aren’t you with Oromis today? I hope you haven’t angered him.”

The tension between them quickly disappeared. “I was sent to train with Vanir today. And it was not me who angered him. Boreas seems to be very fond of that, actually,” chuckled Eragon, glad that for the first time it was not him who had screwed something up. “I see you received Támerlein. How did you manage to convince Lord Fiolr to give it to you?”

“I shall accompany you to the crossroads. From there, I need to see Rhünon. Some alternations must be made for me to use the sword,” Arya said simply, and the Blue Rider followed next to her out of the gardens. “He believes it is futile for such a powerful sword to lie on a shelf when it might be of use in the upcoming battle. He agreed, under the condition that it fulfils the potential we promised him.” It was obvious the conversation was making her uncomfortable.

“I see. I think Rhünon will be ecstatic to have some work to do.” Eragon tried to cheer her up.

And it worked. Arya smiled and nodded. They fell into a casual conversation Eragon had never hoped to have with her. Once his infatuation with her was gone, he no longer felt nervous next to her. But they eventually stopped at the crossroads. Eragon was about to finish a sentence when a piece of melting snow dropped from a branch, slipping immediately behind his collar.

Arya laughed, and Eragon at first felt rather ashamed and annoyed, but in the end managed to join Arya, once he managed to fish out the cold, wet substance.

“Thank you for stopping by, Eragon. I really enjoyed our conversation. But here our paths part.” Arya smiled at him gently. The Blue Rider could remember when this would have made his knees melt, but he no longer felt that way towards her. Before he could add anything, her face grew completely serious, and she carefully said, “The Winter is ending, Eragon.” She brushed the residue of snow off his hair.

“So it seems,” he confirmed, with an unknowing smile plastered on his face. And like that, Eragon headed towards the training field.

Vanir did not seem pleased at all to see Eragon. They had parted ways in a relatively good manner, but it had not made their history vanish. While he did not dare refuse Oromis’ wish, he did not make it easy on Eragon. They sparred rather roughly for a while, and Eragon was not losing, to his own surprise. That seemed to make Vanir even angrier, so his attacks became more vicious, which finally defeated Eragon.

As he tried to catch his breath, a strong mind leaned against the protective walls of his own. He identified Oromis, so he did not deny him. _You may return. Bring Vanir._

_+BREAK+_

When Eragon, Vanir and Saphira arrived at the Crags of Tel’naeír, only Murtagh and Oromis were there waiting for them. The dragons and Marzanna had already left for their lesson, and Saphira was instructed to follow them.

Murtagh was frostbitten, bruised, suffering from various small cuts, despite Oromis’ and his healing efforts. What surprised Eragon the most, though, was his expression. He had never seen the Red Rider look so haunted. The dark circles of exhaustion were understandable. His frown suggested how angry he actually was, but his eyes reflected only a deep and honest regret.

From Oromis’ unsatisfied scowl, it was obvious neither Murtagh nor Thorn had revealed Boreas’ reason for his attack. Yet, as a proper teacher and parent, he seemed to be concerned for the well-being of his charges.

Vanir was darkly pleased with how terribly Murtagh looked.

Oromis made them all swordfight amongst each other that day, not bothering to tutor them, since he was completely drained by the drama. At the end of the day, Eragon was bruised just as much as Murtagh had been, barely able to move.

He was exceptionally grateful when he spotted the dragons on the horizon. Eragon’s heart fluttered and he felt butterflies in his stomach as he caught a glimpse of Marzanna before she disappeared inside her father’s hut.

The moment Oromis released them, Vanir disappeared into the forest, not bothering to wait for Eragon. Murtagh with lowered eyes left with Thorn, not even muttering a single goodbye.

The Blue Rider wanted to leave as well, but Saphira stubbornly stayed in one spot until everyone left. _What are you doing? I hope you do not plan to seduce Boreas. There has been enough drama for today._

Saphira just scowled at him and swung her tail, never intending to hit him. _Hush. This is for you. I know how badly you want to talk to her. She likes to spend time in the garden behind Oromis’ hut._

The Blue Rider’s heart skipped a beat. He felt an excited smile forming. _Saphira, you are amazing. Thank you!_

 _Just because she is not good enough for you, doesn’t mean she can’t make you happy, I suppose,_ Saphira grumbled, curling up for a quick nap and giving Eragon much needed space.

Eragon turned on his heel and without hesitation aimed towards where he thought the garden might be. He was extremely nervous, but he rationalized it to himself that it only meant he cared. He cared about the outcome, and for her. Soon, he managed to find his way, emerging in a beautiful garden sleeping under an icy duvet. The garden was decorated with various ice statues, sparkling in the setting sun.

There, under a roof of branches, sat Marzanna on a stone, her back to him. Her legs were folded beneath her and in her lap rested a solid piece of ice, which she seemed to be shaping. Eragon held his breath. He could not look away from her. She reminded him of one of her icy statues, so pale and untarnished, her skin reflecting light like they did. She looked like winter itself.

“Eragon,” she breathed out, her tone cold and distant.

The Blue Rider smiled gently and wiped his sweaty hands on his pants. He reduced the distance between them, which added more stiffness to her shoulders, but Eragon did not notice at all. “How did you know it was me?” he asked.

“Who else would come here searching for me and not speak for several minutes?” she retorted. Then she paused for a few seconds before she added, “Besides, I saw your reflection. You should know I would never leave my back unprotected.” She shrugged.

“Forgive me. I tend to see you as a fragile flower, when you are toughest out of us all,” he said. Any observer would easily have spotted how much Eragon was in love with her, but she was not part of that group.

“Flattery is not going to get you anywhere. What do you want?” she asked directly, still stoic. That threw Eragon.

He sighed and gathered his courage. “Marzanna, why have you been avoiding me? If I knew that night would change our relationship this much, I would never have agreed to it,” confessed Eragon, “It was one of the best nights of my life, but I value our relationship more.”  He looked to her. She sat there like one of her statues.

“Maybe it is for the best. I am not very popular anywhere, and the last thing you need is to tarnish your reputation by being connected to me,” Marzanna said distantly. “Besides, I am too old for you. You are a child even amongst your young race.”

“Marzanna, after this war is finished, I do not care what people think of my reputation. I once said I would marry you and I have no regrets at all. And your age is not a valid argument. I cannot marry a mortal woman anyway, and there likely isn’t an immortal woman amongst humans, and elves of my age are really rare,” Eragon defended, frowning.

She just shook her head. “Just accept that it wouldn’t work. You belong to three races, while I only belong to the one your three races all hate. Even if we both survive this war, our ways are going to part. Move on, Eragon,” she exhaled.

The Blue Rider fought back the despair which entered his mind. He could feel his lower lip quivering. He shook his head in disbelief. “This can’t be it. We have an eternity to figure this out, just give us a chance.” He reached out and touched her shoulder.

Marzanna flinched so hard that the ice block in her lap was sent flying and crashed and shattered against the ground. The she-elf was immediately on her feet. She backed away from Eragon, hugging herself with her arms. She tried to keep her expression neutral, but Eragon recognized that it was only a mask for her fear.

“Look what you have done,” she stuttered, nodded in the direction of the shards of ice. Her eyes fell to the ground, not daring to look up to him.

Eragon was completely confused by her reaction. He opened and closed his mouth a few times, trying to find the proper words. The entire day seemed to be utterly bemusing. “I am sorry,” he said, not looking towards the destroyed sculpture. “I am sorry if I ever gave you reason to fear me,” he whispered gently. His plan to persuade her vanished from his mind.

She did not speak up, did not look up. “Please, look at me. I promise I will not touch you unless you want me to,” he begged her, as if he was talking to a wounded animal. When even that did not help, he reached inside the pocket of his pants and fished out the small wooden sculpture of Kulkarvek she had given him before she left the Varden. “This is Kulkarvek, right? You seemed to admire him greatly. Could you perhaps teach me how to sculpt it as well? My uncle Garrow carved my first bow for me.”

Marzanna lifted her eyes to him, every emotion now hidden behind her perfect neutral mask. “What happened to it?”

And so Eragon began his career as a storyteller.

_+BREAK+_

Days slowly turned into months. The elves received an alarming message that Shruikan had been spotted moving in Uru’baen. The winter receded, and the weather was warming up. Arya left with her mother to help the Varden.

The tension amongst the group slowly dissolved, but Marzanna still was not comfortable in Eragon’s presence. He never questioned her, just implied that he was a willing listener, if she ever needed it. Eragon and Murtagh’s communication fell into its old rails, reminding the Blue Rider a lot of their appreciated friendship over their journey to the Varden. Even the Red Rider and Marzanna’s relationship was somewhat salvaged. She made it a point to never be alone in his presence, ideally with Eragon and/or Boreas instead. 

Oromis never questioned them, but sometimes it seemed as if he sensed the cause of the disruption. Since he had no confirmation or proof, he never acted upon it, and kept treating them all the same.

Vanir trained with them ever since that day. Once, Marzanna decided to join them swordfighting after a very long time.

Oromis was sitting in front of his hut, evaluating their work, always pointing out any mistakes and unnoticed stiff muscles. “Marzanna, it might be a good idea to see you fight with Vanir. I believe neither of you has had the pleasure to fight the other so far.” The old elf felt the strain of his limitations more than ever, basically tying him to his chair.

His daughter only nodded and secured Íssbrandr with the proper ancient words, pleasing her father by actually using the language he was teaching her. Vanir just smirked. “No, so far I have not had the _pleasure,_ ” he answered with contempt. He shared his race’s opinion of the witch. With a roll of his eyes, which he made sure Oromis could not see, he secured his blade as well.

Every time Eragon had seen Marzanna fight, or even experienced it in his own skin, she had gained some unfair advantage, using any means to win. This time, though, Vanir and Marzanna were evenly matched. They both acted rather predatorily and overconfident, far too certain of their own skills.

They circled each other, both determined to win. The first one to attack was Vanir, his contempt getting the best of him. He minimized the distance between them and struck at her head. She dropped to the ground and managed to slip right through the gap between his legs. Vanir immediately spun to face her, but that was exactly what Marzanna expected. She kicked back with her leg, hitting his hip bone.

It sent him staggering backward, but his balance helped him keep his feet on the ground. The level of Vanir’s anger increased. He showered Marzanna with various sudden attacks. She was able to deflect them, but was not able to return them. She had to constantly step back to withstand the impacts.

This struggle dragged on. The pair managed to get rather close to the edge of their ring, and Eragon had to jump to his feet to not get tangled in the mess.

Until then, their fighting had been rather equal, but Marzanna seemed to suddenly grow slower, no longer so flexible. And despite her efforts to mask it, she was turning rapidly whiter and whiter.

This encouraged Vanir even more, and with a precise strike, he unarmed Marzanna. But he was not capable of taming his anger. Instead of accepting her surrender, he swung his sword towards her neck. She was too slow to move out of his reach. The observing group jumped to their feet and in unison shouted out, but it was futile against the speed of the blow. Despite their protected swords, with enough force, they were still lethal weapons.

But Vanir’s sword never hit its target. The blade slid smoothly through the layer of air surrounding Marzanna, like a knife through butter. But it never touched the she-elf. The shock on Vanir’s face suggested it had not been his intention to divert the blow. His eyebrows twisted into an angry grimace as he tried with a shout to hit Marzanna again, who did not show any signs of movving. But the same thing happened, the blade innocently avoiding Marzanna no matter how exactly its owner aimed.

It was the third blow that finally collided. The screeching of metals against each other cut through the otherwise peaceful day like a bell in a monastery. Naegling was thrust in front of Marzanna to protect her from Vanir’s sword. “Enough, Vanir-vodhr!” Oromis gritted through clenched teeth, either due to anger or incredible pain. “How dare you harm my daughter?! I always knew you lacked respect, but now I see you lack more than that. Do you have even the slightest control of your emotions? You have no manners. Who do you think you are to attack an unarmed person?! Even more so my daughter!” For the first time Oromis’ calm façade cracked to pieces and showed exactly how livid he was. Despite his weakened state, he looked to Vanir as Glaedr looks to a small rabbit. He took a few calming breaths, before slipping behind his neutral mask. He measured Vanir again with contempt in his eyes. “I see I overestimated you terribly. Leave. Now.”

Extremely pale, Vanir stood rooted to the ground. Some light inside his eyes seemed to die out. He tried to stutter out something in his defence, his lips trembling under many emotions. In the end, nothing came out. With sagging shoulders, he turned on his heel and left. There was something in his stance suggesting that a little part of him had been thoroughly destroyed.

Eragon’s eyes caught a glimpse of a strange motion. Marzanna had been apathetic throughout the entire drama, but now she swayed on her feet dangerously and staggered backwards as her knees stopped supporting her body. Eragon without hesitation rushed to catch her, and she fell directly into his arms.

“Hey, are you alright?” the Blue Rider asked softly the Blue Rider, helping her steady herself. Murtagh came closer to them with concern on his face, but he kept a proper distance.

Marzanna nodded weakly with a frown, the unhealthy paleness not leaving her face. “I apologize. This has never happened to me before,” she said, almost ashamed. For a while she rested in the arms of the Blue Rider, trying to regain her strength.

“Was that your powers protecting you again?” asked Eragon.

Marzanna shook her head. “I am not sure what happened. My powers did not feel like I was threatened. Whatever saved me was not a part of me,” she whispered, her voice hoarse from the shock that finally impacting her.

Then, she pulled herself together and withdrew from Eragon’s embrace. The Blue Rider reluctantly let go of her, but still watched her with worry in his eyes.

“It is probably the summer. It is getting closer,” Marzanna remarked with disgust, looking up to the sky while supporting herself against a stone.

_+BREAK+_

The day was never destined to be normal. The lords and ladies of Tialdarí Hall summoned Oromis. The old elf only frowned oddly  at that and called for the dragons to return. Once Glaedr arrived, they both took off for Tialdarí Hall and left their students to their own fate.

Eragon and Murtagh were sitting outside of Oromis’ hut playing a game of “Blaze the Pebble”. Around them were scattered various blasted pebbles, some still flaming in the colour of their Rider. Thorn was sleeping somewhat angrily, because he had tried to play as well, but his version was with a small rock, which became far too dangerous. Saphira pretended to be sleeping, while she actually watched Boreas.

Marzanna was sitting hidden in the shade to avoid unnecessary heat. Her entire body was surrounded by hills of ice and snow. Boreas sometimes helpfully adding to her hoard of cold treasure, which sparkled in the almost-summer sun as it melted. Her eyes were closed, clearly enjoying the coldness in which she was buried. 

When the Blue Rider looked up, awaiting his turn, he believed for a second that he was seeing another ice statue of hers. She belonged to the winter, just like the dwarves belonged to the Beor Mountains. He knew he was probably bothering Saphira, with how many longing stares he was sending her way. Ever since he had offered her his help, he did not dare pursue her. But damn, he wanted her so much. Before he was only smitten with her beauty and her flirtation, but now he could look behind that cover and yet, he still liked what was there.

He also could see the similar, yet twisted, stares Murtagh was giving her as well. Saphira had to point it out to him, because he tended to overlook it. Eragon realized that something must have happened between them to change their relationship. The Red Rider no longer dared go close to her, or even start conversation on his own. He desired her presence, for more reasons than just the bond between them, but the pain and guilt inside his eyes suggested he did not approach her properly.

 _I am too hot,_ Saphira complained with a suspicious innocence as she yawned, stretching and moving closer to Boreas and his mountain of ice. The white dragon opened his huge eye and looked at her with distrust, but eventually moved slightly aside to share his icy kingdom.

Eragon chuckled. _Are you the same Saphira who glowed in the heat of the Hadarac Desert?_ The Blue Rider teased her. Saphira smacked him lightly through their minds, but otherwise ignored him.

All of a sudden, she lifted her head and sniffed the air around Marzanna. Her nostrils flared and she growled softly. The she-elf did not note that, but Boreas was fully alert. Saphira then just shook her head and put it back on her paws.

 _What is it?_ asked Eragon grumpily. Because of the distraction, he had missed his pebble, which pushed Murtagh closer to winning. Saphira just brushed him off, and her mind filled with pictures of Boreas. The Blue Rider did not need any more to know he was unwelcome.

Silence fell over the Crags of Tel’naeír. It was almost like the calm before a storm.

“Something is wrong,” Marzanna said with the utmost certainty as her eyes opened. She inspected her surroundings, as if searching for the source of her suspicions. Then, she stared into the distance.

Before Eragon had the time to ask, the loud thuds always proceeding Glaedr were heard. And soon, they could all see the golden dragon. It took a few minutes, before he fully approached them and landed at his spot. It was then, when all the Riders saw Oromis’ worried look, that they all knew that something truly was wrong.

“What is it?” Eragon asked with broken voice Eragon, somehow knowing he had failed. Terribly failed.

The silver-haired elf gulped, but kept his calm façade. “The Varden was attacked, and Nasuada was abducted.” The tension was so thick, they could cut it with a knife.

It was Murtagh who spoke up. “What? But by whom? Don’t tell me that the lazy king actually did something,” he asked disbelievingly.

“Not personally. But he created a Shade – Letho. He feels threatened, and he reaches for desperate measures. He is becoming more dangerous. And we lost too much time. While valuably spent, it might be for nothing if we do not leave immediately.” He paused for a while, looking older than ever. “The war does not wait. The battle is here.”

Nothing else needed to be said in order for the others to immediately pack and leave for Uru’baen.


	24. The Battle I

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Beta-reader: Dragonblooded

Uru’baen–the capital of Alagaësia–was cloaked in the velvety fingers of dark fiery fumes, turning the clouds into storms. The rain poured down onto the two armies, scattered into groups with no order. The ramparts of the city seemed undefeatable, stubbornly standing in the way of the Varden, elves, and dwarves alike.

Every spell cast against the walls never stuck, slipping over it. The skilled who managed to climb the ramparts on ladders which were not pushed away, were killed, all highly outnumbered.

The armies had not even met physically, yet the rebels were already half devastated. They lacked organisation, lacked strategy, lacked leaders. They lacked hope. But if any of them had bothered to look up to the sky, they would have seen it. There, when the clouds from time to time thinned, a flicker of blue scales was visible.

“This can’t be true,” Eragon sighed, almost as if in pain. “Where is the rest of the Varden army?” He had not expected a lot, but this was far below his worse expectations.

Oromis took his time with answer. It was clearly not an easy topic to speak of. “No one expected a new Shade. When he attacked the Varden, they had no way to protect themselves. He killed many people with fire. He overpowered most of the Vardens’ spellcasters, and forced them to perform a spell beyond their energies. It killed everyone in a close distance, and those who survived died of poisoning. Lady Nasuada was kidnapped. Whether she is alive or dead remains unknown.”

The Blue Rider felt angry. He wanted to blame Oromis and Glaedr and the elves for keeping him away for so long and allowing this to happen. But deep down, he knew he was equally guilty. “So many died for me.”

Oromis immediately reassured him, sensing Eragon’s inner doubt. “Eragon-finiarel, what happened cannot be undone. Do not dwell on the dead. Focus on the living, who still can be saved. Do not allow their sacrifice to be in vain.” There was a silence for a few seconds as they analysed the situation.

“I am surprised, no one expected a new Shade to emerge. If I was in Galbatorix’s place, I would do just the same. It is risky, but it increases my chances of winning and killing him off later,” commented Marzanna, who had been until then silent. “Also, the Imperial Army seems far too calm. Yes, the ramparts are so far intact, but they expected at least three dragons to be here. They expected the walls to fall. There has to be some trap inside.”

“Wait a moment. This is all you had in store for Galbatorix? Are you kidding me? You cannot beat him this way. He has all the eldunarí on his side, and now a Shade as well. I would rather die than return to his clutches,” Murtagh exclaimed in outrage.

Eragon did not listen to the conversation. He was studying the concentration of Galbatorix’s soldiers in various parts of the city. And then it hit him. “They are positioned rather oddly. Scattered through the outer streets and alleys, but really cumulated in some sort of ring.”

“This is a magical trap,” Murtagh breathed. His face oddly contorted, as if he was fighting something inside his mind.

The silver-haired elf turned to face him, concern visible in his eyes. “But you cannot tell us. You still hold oaths to Galbatorix, right?” Murtagh nodded sternly.

“Murtagh, think of it this way. If I accidently walk into that trap, I am going to get hurt. Revealing it protects me,” Marzanna said firmly.

The Red Rider was silent for a while, clenching his teeth. “In the circle, all spells stop working. He has the name of the names. I cannot say more, I am sorry,” he cried out.

“If we cut off the snake’s head, the rest of the body will die as well,” mumbled Oromis. His eyes snapped towards the white dragon. “Boreas, I need you to stay with me. There are some walls to tear down. The rest of you, go find the king. Murtagh, you can lead them there. I wish you all best of luck.” His eyes glided proudly from Murtagh to Eragon and lastly to Marzanna, where he stopped. “Please, stay alive.”

Marzanna looked down towards Boreas, lost in their inner conversation, before she wordlessly rose from her seat and jumped gracefully onto Saphira’s back, clutching Eragon. “You too,” she replied for the entire group. “We still have more to talk about, father.”

_+BREAK+_

Thorn and Saphira stayed above the clouds with the Riders, hidden from prying eyes, while Glaedr and Boreas descended from the heavens with roars so loud they made the ground shake. The battle froze for a few seconds as everyone stopped to look up.

As soon as the elves erupted into loud cheers, the Varden and dwarves joined them. They all seemed to find hidden sources of energy, and attacked their enemies with new vigour. It did not take long, before the Varden’s army became more organized, and before the walls were torn apart by the two huge dragons.

Only the group remaining in the sky was not there to witness it.

Murtagh and Thorn were leading them into the lion’s den. Eragon tried to obscure them with spells, as they ascending towards the citadel, but as soon as they passed over the magic-less ring, they became visible. A few soldiers immediately spotted them, but to everyone’s surprise, did not react at all.

Loud cheers from the background informed them that the ramparts had been broken. _We need to wait here for a while,_ said Saphira, without giving them any reason. Eragon tried to convince her to continue, but she stubbornly stayed still. And without her, they did not dare move.

In the end, they trusted her judgement and waited, anxiously stepping from foot to foot. Eventually, the reason for their delay arrived. As soon as they all heard someone approaching, they prepared their swords.

“I would have thought you might need this,” a familiar voice said. From behind corner appeared Arya, masked as one of King’s soldiers. In her hand she held Niernen, and at her waist was hanging Támerlein, sheathed. Saphira and Thorn eyed Niernen with distaste. They had been informed of the purpose of this spear.

“Arya,” breathed out Eragon happily. She reminded him of old times when he had not needed to watch his back, knowing Arya and Murtagh were covering it for him. They quickly exchanged information about the situation.

Then, without losing any more time, they took off towards all the traps laid in front of them. Murtagh knew of most of them, so he managed to warn them. The few remaining they managed to discover with spells or various tricks to trigger them.

Just like the time passing by, their energy resources seemed to thin out. Eragon almost got caught in a fire trap, but Saphira grabbed him in time, saving him from burning to death, leaving him with only few scratches from her claws. _Thank you, my beloved._

Once he steadied himself on his own feet, he looked up. There in front of him was the door leading to the throne room. He nervously turned to look at his companion. They all sealed their minds fully behind their protective walls.

When Eragon received nods from all of them, he carefully stepped towards the door and slowly pressed his palm against it. The gold-covered wood was smooth and cold. With only a little pressure they opened, almost as if of their own volition.

Aside from a few wall lamps burning with fire, the room was dim. It almost seemed as if the black heavy curtains hanging behind the throne in the back of the room were absorbing all the light inside. On the richly decorated throne sat one lone person. They would have been easy to overlook, if they did not move as the door opened.

“Welcome. I have been long expecting you all,” spoke the king in his deep baritone voice. It radiated authority, more than Oromis or even Brom could ever dream to have. He looked like a man in his forties, at his prime. One could no longer wonder what made so many follow him, and what made him terrifying.

The King patiently waited for them to approach. He did not bother to try to attack them, or protect himself. If Eragon had ever felt unprepared, it was in that moment. The Blue Rider scanned Galbatorix for any weakness, but was not able to find any. The odds were heavily against them. Despite them outnumbering the king, there was no doubt he was stronger.

 _I do not see Shruikan, but I can smell him,_ Saphira growled through their minds, and Eragon had to agree.

Once the king was pleased with their closeness, almost as if craving a personal meeting, he nodded. “I am glad that you have all come here. It almost seems as if fate brought us together,” he sighed. His calm demeanour reminded Eragon of the calm before a storm.

The king’s eyes fell to Saphira, obviously pleased with what he saw. “Welcome home, Saphira. Here is where you should have been all along. You spent a lot of time with your brothers in a room not too far from here. I used to speak to you. Perhaps you remember,” said the king.

 _I… I remember,_ she said sheepishly.

The King nodded and looked towards Arya. “It is quite ironic, that I gave an order to bring you here long ago. And here you are, of your own will. You have caused me a great deal of trouble, but in the end, if not for you, Saphira may have not ever hatched. I thank you for that, Arya-Dröttningu.” Arya actually flinched at his words, her otherwise emotionless mask cracked. That was the effect of the king’s charm.

“You are going to pay for your crimes, Dragonthief,” exclaimed Arya with an anger-filled voice, only masking her cracking nerves.

It did not take long before his eyes were drawn to the one person who did not fit into his ‘fate’. “I see that we have a little invader here.” A frown formed on his face. Eragon was certain that those who witness that frown did not live to talk about it.

“After one hundred years, an extinct blood line comes back to life, thanks to you. A little seed cultivated by the most disgusting race in the Alagaësia.” His voice was completely calm, as if he was speaking about the weather. “When Oromis persuaded the others to not give me a new dragon, I did not understand how he could see so easily through me. But then, one day Morzan complained about an annoying girl, Lilith, who always knew too much. Of course she warned Oromis, who watched me suspiciously ever since. I assume he also survived the Fall because of her.” He paused for a while and then studied Marzanna’s face intensely. “I see Oromis in you more than your mother. I will inform him of your death before I kill him.”

“No! You are not killing her!” Murtagh protested loudly. He actually felt the quivering of the string bonding him and Marzanna, shivering in anticipation of danger.

The king’s eyes snapped to the red duo. “Welcome back, Murtagh and Thorn. I see you managed to break your vows to me. Do not worry, we will recreate them all and prevent any further intervention,” Galbatorix said sternly. A dangerous spark appeared in his eyes. “Once you have been punished appropriately, you may help me integrate Eragon and Saphira.”

Murtagh tried to withstand the force of Galbatorix’s glare, but eventually he looked bashfully down.

Then, as if in slow motion, the King’s eyes glided towards Eragon.

“Eragon, Eragon,” he said with disappointment. “You have caused me a lot of trouble with those friends of yours. And what for? You should have joined me in the beginning. It would have spared us a great deal of trouble, and saved many lives. But you probably needed to mature anyway.” Galbatorix shook his head.

“What for?” Eragon asked in shock. “You destroyed my family. You murdered innocents. You destroyed peace in the world under Riders. You made dragons go almost extinct. And unless we stop you, your tyranny will continue. Today, we are ending you.” The Blue Rider was proud that his voice had not quivered.

The king looked almost regretful. “It was never my intention to harm your family. That was an unwise step, of my unwise servants. We can avenge your uncle. If you join me, I will sacrifice the Ra’zacs to fulfil your revenge.” He smiled eerily.

“You are willing to kill them because they no longer obey you,” Marzanna murmured to herself, but in the heavy silence looming over them, it was easy to hear. A nerve in the king’s eyes twitched, but he ignored her, planning to make her suffer for it later.

“Eragon, do you really believe that your beloved Varden did not kill any innocents? They started this war. Many people would have lived calm lives if not for them. The Order of the Riders was old. The Riders were fat and senile. It was time to replace them. The old must die for the new to arise. Help me form the new Order, better than the old one,” the king tempted further. “I deeply regret what happened to the dragons, but I do not doubt for a second that we can bring them back. Help me bring my vision into reality.”

Eragon clenched his teeth to stop himself from answering. Despite his firm beliefs, he felt himself wavering.

The king shook his head again in disappointment when Eragon did not answer. “Well, then… go on. Do what you all have come to do,” he urged.

None of them dared attack him with their minds. They had no backup, no chance of winning. They would only destroy their own defences.

Arya was the first one to react. She prepared to throw Niernan, but stopped midway. Eragon, who was also prepared to attack, stopped and look at her. There was effort in Arya’s face as she tried to make Niernen move, but the spear nothing.

The Blue Rider also tried, but he was as well motionless. He tried to use a spell to make his sword move, but as he opened his mouth, Galbatorix exclaimed the Word. It felt more powerful than anything he had ever felt. He could literally feel his protective spells being ripped away from him.

Eragon felt his despair build up. He was so confused by the Word. His spells were failing and he was unable to move. He focused his energy against the body-binding spell. Seconds passed - they could have easily turned to minutes - but the Blue Rider felt only his limited sources of energy disappear while the spell did nothing.

Peripherally Eragon saw everyone else fighting a similar battle....with a similar result. He connected his mind to the gemstone in Aren – Brom’s ring – and used some of the energy left there to try to counteract the spell again.

Minutes passed, while virtually nothing happened.

Then all of a sudden, he noted a white quick flash from his right side. The body-binding spell weakened. While they were rooted to the ground, they could move freely. And a few things happened at the same time.

_+BREAK+_

Marzanna was frozen from the second she pulled Íssbrandr out of its sheath. Boreas could feel her distress and watched the situation, but he was too far to do anything else. She reached into the reserves of her energy, but did not attack the spell directly. Instead, she used a little energy and her wit to crack the spell here and there.

She realized everyone else was fighting the same battle, but they seemed to be doing much worse than her. Once she thought there were enough cracks in the spell, she pushed against it with all the energy she had.

And nothing happened. She was still stuck to the ground.

Suddenly, she had the feeling someone was watching her, hidden. It was as if she had a terrible itch she could not scratch. Undetected, a heavy, unusual power like a mind crept into her, unbothered by her protections.

If Marzanna could have, she would have flinched, once she felt the heavy power inside her head. She felt her fear spike.

 _Let me help you,_ it whispered. It was unlike any living being. Goosebumps ran over Marzanna’s back. It was as if something was speaking to her from the grave.

The she-elf tried to push the power out of her head, but to no avail. It was as if she tried to push against fog. _Who are you?_ she asked in distress. This was not the time for a surprise invader.

 _Your future,_ it answered simply.

Against Marzanna’s will, her mind supplied memories and thoughts of Boreas, Eragon, Murtagh, Oromis, Glaedr, Thorn, Saphira. _They are my future,_ she eventually answered, once she knew it was futile to hide it.

The power was silent for a while, before answering with a resolute, _Wrong._

The answer thundered through her mind. _Get out. I don’t need your help. I am powerful enough._

 _Power is why they fear you. Fear breeds despair. And there is so much fear in them._ The odd power seemed to wallow in the word ‘fear’. The fog stretched through her mind, not in an invasive or   forceful way, but like a gas, lazily expanding.

 _What are you talking about? Get out of my head!_ There was fear in Marzanna as well. With all the energy she had she lashed out against the fog, against the spell, against everything around her.

The fog did not react at all for a few seconds. _Once they turn their back at you, I will be waiting._ Then, it disappeared just as it had appeared. The force of Marzanna’s energy rammed right into the spell, like a bird at full speed striking the ground.

And the spell cracked, releasing her body. Her hand, frozen in the middle of throwing Íssbrandr Galbatorix’s way, finished the movement.

While the sword was aimed precisely at the king, in the end, it flew slightly the wrong way, as right in that moment someone crashed into Marzanna and rammed her against a stone block.

_+BREAK+_

Eragon turned his head to see Íssbrandr fly through the air at high speed, burying itself tip into the fabric of the throne next to the king’s head.

Galbatorix’s calm façade cracked to show obvious shock. The sword had completely bypassed his protective spells, layered over himself for ages using the energy of the eldunari. It was clear that if the sword had flown the right way, the assassination would have been successful.

“Kill her. Immediately,” commanded Galbatorix, looking behind Eragon’s shoulder. The Blue Rider turned that way.

There stood a stone block, to which Marzanna was pinned by a red-haired man, trapping her hands in shackles attached to the stone. The rest of her body was pinned to it by the man himself, who seemed to enjoy the contact. Their faces were only a centimetre apart. His eyes bore into hers. While his were aflame with passion and joy, hers were filled with hatred and anger.

“But why?” complained Letho. “She is such a lovely specimen. It would be a shame to destroy such beauty.” He smiled, clearly pleased with himself, not even bothering to look the king’s way.  He reached out with one of his pale hands and gently but firmly took Marzanna’s chin into his fingers and lifted her head.

Marzanna tried to fight him, but he easily overpowered, eventually turning her head to the side. He looked at her as if he were a merchant evaluating new merchandise. His eyes fell to the crack-like scar on her cheek from her illness. “A pity that this porcelain doll was knocked over.” Letho frowned.

“She is a danger to us. It is our duty to wipe it out before it takes root,” growled Galbatorix, clearly annoyed. It was obviously not the first time Letho had questioned him, but it was difficult to punish a Shade.

“No way,” Letho ended the discussion. “Besides, you got your two pets. It is only fair I get my own.” He smiled darkly, not taking his eyes off Marzanna.

There was a twitch inside Marzanna’s cheek when he called her ‘pet’. Without hesitation, she kicked up her leg as high as she could, hitting Letho right in the crotch. Even Eragon had to wince.

Letho staggered a step back. With one hand he clutched his damaged jewels. His grimace twisted with pain, but was replaced in a fraction of second by anger. The change was so sudden it was terrifying. “How dare you, you bitch!” he shouted, his voice echoing throughout the room with a sharp tang. Without thinking, he slapped Marzanna in the face, so hard he drew blood from her split lip.

The king was clearly enjoying the view. He had wanted to do that to Letho for ages.

Marzanna defiantly looked back at Letho and spat the blood filling her mouth right into his face. “You ungrateful whore! How dare you defy us!” Letho was livid, forgetting to speak about himself as a single person. He imprisoned her head between his hands, digging his nails into her fragile skin, and attacked her mind.

Then within a fraction of a second he completely withdrew and took a step back. His expression was completely calm, slightly surprised. A knowing smirk formed on his lips. “My porcelain doll, we are going to have so much fun,” he said, creepily loving. He minimized the distance between them and kissed her forehead, pressing his hands against her belly.

Marzanna was visibly disgusted, but before she was able to form attack again, Letho turned to Galbatorix. “Keep her alive for me, would you, Galby? Be careful with her. She is fragile. She’s already been knocked around.” Letho laughed at something and shook his head, nothing remaning of his anger from a few seconds ago. “Anyway, I have places to be.” With that, he walked out of the throne room towards the battle outside. From the king’s expression, it was not the first time Letho used the nickname.

“Shades are never easy to deal with. But you know quite a bit about that. Right, Eragon?” Galbatorix sighed tiredly. “But, he is useful. I would hate to get my hands dirty with the rebels outside.”

That got Eragon’s blood pumping. “You spoke of the Varden and I wasting lives, but you do just the same. You are nothing but a hypocrite. Release me and face me in a fair battle, one on one. Or have you forgotten completely how to use a sword?” taunted the Blue Rider.

The king saw right through his jab and while he was not pleased with the insults, did not allow it to sway him. “It might be useful to put Vrangr to actions after all these years.” With that, he patted a white sword to his side. While Íssbrandr was as white as a freshly fallen snow, Vrangr’s white was more tired, almost creeping towards grey.

“I took this sword from Vrael, but maybe I should exchange it for Íssbrandr, yes?” He flashed a smile towards Marzanna. “In the end, Rhünon almost created odes about this sword. She said it herself. It is the best she ever made. Clearly cuts through strong defences.” The last sentence Galbatorix murmured to himself.

“It is a tempting offer, Eragon. Thank you for that. But I always wondered who of Morzan’s sons was a better swordsman. Besides, Murtagh can well represent my side. He will be returned to his place in no time anyway.” The dangerous spark in his eyes reappeared.

“I am not going to fight him,” Eragon refused. The king just smiled and knocked on the throne with his fingers.

Suddenly, the huge black curtains started to move. It looked like a huge mountain of moving charcoal. To his shock and fear, Eragon realized that _that_ was Shruikan, all along. His size was terrifying. He could easily kill Saphira with one hit. What Eragon considered to be an entire wing, was actually only one fold. One of Shruikan’s thorns was just as thick as the Menoa tree in Ellesméra. A huge ice-blue eye opened and looked at all of them with so much hatred and anger it made Eragon want to cower and hide. Now he fully realized how it felt to be prey.

“While I would love to build the new order of Riders, I really only need Saphira.” The king shrugged. “Besides, I might have even more motivation for you.” The king clapped his hands and the room was brightened up by more wall torches. The light revealed another few stone blocks. One of them was occupied. By Nasuada.

“Nasuada! Are you alright?” asked Eragon. He felt the guilt inside him spiked anew since he had left the Varden and her to this monster. She looked beaten and worn and reminded him of a scared rabbit, but she eventually nodded. “Did he force a vow out of you yet?”

Nasuada shook her head.

“If she did, do you think I would allow her to tell you?” asked Galabtorix mockingly. He paused for a while.

All of a sudden, a bright smiled formed on Galbatorix’ face. “I have a deal for you. It is fairly simple, and for my amusement only. I really do not care what happens outside. If I wanted, I could have ended that battle hours ago. But then again, I needed all of you here.”

He took his time before he shared the deal. “If you refuse to fight, both your beloved chained ladies will die, painfully.”

Eragon and Murtagh exchanged shocked expressions. Eventually, they both nodded. They would fight each other.

Having received a confirmation, Galbatorix continued. “I would hate for either of you to die, so beware such attacks. Otherwise, I will have to intervene.”

Both Riders felt the spell binding them disappear. They took their positions and waited for Galbatorix to start the duel.

“Let us add a twist, what do you say? Eragon, it would be appropriate you fight for Nasuada. Murtagh, you wanted to protect her once already, so fight for Marzanna. The one who loses, has gambled and lost the life of his lady as well.

Begin.”


	25. The Battle II

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Beta-reader: Dragonblooded

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Hey, guys! I hope you will enjoy this story just as much as I enjoyed writing it. This year has been rather tough on me and any comment you leave, guys, would be highly appreciated.

Eragon could feel his heart skip a beat. Surely he had heard wrong.

His eyes chaotically wandered the room until they stopped to stare at Galbatorix in disbelief. It took him a few moments to collect his wits to answer. “You cannot be serious!” he exclaimed loudly, his voice shaking.

Something dangerous flashed in the king’s eyes. He stood up from his throne unnaturally quickly. “Am I not?” It was not a real question. It was a threat. The huge dragon behind his back was not even needed for impact.

Eragon took a step back involuntarily. “Letho wanted you to keep Marzanna alive, and you can use Nasuada as bait,” Eragon tried to argue.

“The Shade is my servant, just as all of you will be. And Lady Nasuada’s role as bait has already worked. Are you not all here? I do not care for either of their lives.” With that, he raised his hand into the air. Words of the ancient language started to flow fluidly from his mouth.

Eragon did not catch all of them, but he didn’t need to. The effect was immediate. The chains holding Nasuada and Marzanna woke magically and started twisting around their bodies, until they looped around their necks and tightened.

Both girls tried to struggle, but the more they did, the more the shackles tightened. Soon the colour of Marzanna’s face betrayed how bad the situation was.

The Blue Rider barely had time to pull himself together before he intercepted a sinister whistling coming his way. His reflexes took over and he stumbled a step forward, turning to face the sound. Saphira’s shout echoed through his mind. From her perspective, he saw that the red sword had missed him by a few hairs.

 _That traitor!_ He had been dumb enough to believe that Murtagh was truly on their side, yet he attacked him from behind, honourless. The anger fuelled Eragon’s first swing.

Murtagh avoided it with such an ease and precision that it made Eragon wonder if he had ever known his true fighting style. The gap between them was getting quickly wider. For a while, Eragon showered Murtagh in wild uncontrolled attacks, with no result.

Only the strain of the Blue Rider’s muscles made him stop and think. While diverting some of Murtagh’s vicious attacks, Eragon collected himself and his experience. He recalled his lessons from Oromis and Brom alike and evaluated Murtagh in a different light. For the first time looked at him from the Red Rider’s own perspective. And the Red Rider did just the same. They circled each other steadily.

Murtagh’s attacks were coldly calculated for minimal risk. From his stance, it was obvious he did not intend to lose. While Eragon could distinguish the typical male ego, craving victory, there was more to it. His half-brother could not afford to lose.

And then it all clicked. In his shock and confusion, Eragon had almost forgotten about the prize. While Murtagh did not hold anything against Nasuada, he was devoted to Marzanna through their bond. His brother had not betrayed him at all.

In a way, Eragon envied him. Unlike him, he was not torn between his duty and his heart. He was fully fighting for Marzanna, not caring at all for Nasuada’s life. That sense of injustice made Eragon attack with renewed power, choosing duty above anything else. This time, though, his attacks were better planned, taking into account his knowledge of Murtagh’s weaknesses and strengths.

The first blow Murtagh stopped only barely, as if shocked Eragon had attacked with such calculation. There was something like shock and realization on the Red Rider’s face for a moment, before it was hidden behind a mask of concentration.

His brain did not really believe the king would kill one of the girls.

Eragon had to crouch to avoid losing his head, though the king would probably have interfered in time. With a few elf-like jumps, he repositioned himself behind Murtagh, whose more muscular body was now slowing him down. He charged at him and managed to cut the Red Rider across his chest, copying the shape of the scar on his back.

Murtagh staggered a few steps back and pressed his hand to his chest, only to draw it away painted in blood. While typically that would have made the Red Rider become enraged and reckless, this time he managed to control his temper. His mind entirely focused on one target.

The Red Rider minimized the distance between them and faked a blow towards Eragon’s left thigh. The Blue Rider’s reflexes automatically tried to stop it, but Murtagh was prepared. Just a fraction of a second before he struck him, he changed direction to slice through his half-brother’s thigh.

A shout escaped his throat as the pain penetrated his body, shooting from his thigh to all the nerves inside him, each writhing with its injured friends. 

 _Eragon!_ screamed Saphira. He could hear her trying to get to him, only to be stopped by Galbatorix’s powerful spells. The Blue Rider tried to move away before his half-brother could attack again, but for some reason, the traitorous red sword was stuck inside his muscle, its point protruding from his thigh, perfectly wriggled between his armour.

As soon as he isolated his mind from the pain, a solution came to him. Murtagh was so far without a weapon. He swung his sword at his head. That blow would have efficiently decapitated the Red Rider if Galbatorix’s interference did not tilt it to side, so Murtagh’s temple was struck only with the flat.

It was still enough to make him dizzy. The Red Rider let go of his sword and Eragon was able to push him away, finally escaping Zar’roc’s grasp. The Blue Rider charged, hobbling, towards his half-brother with his eyes set on victory.

Even though Murtagh was now defenceless, Eragon attacked anyway. His half-brother tried to protect himself. He raised his hand. And Brisingr went right through his palm.

A painful scream filled the room, and blood stained the stone floor. At the same time, though, the agony seemed to bring Murtagh back from his dizziness.

“Finish him, but do not kill him,” commanded Galbatorix from his position in front of the throne, looking down at Murtagh with disgust. “It seems like we have a victor.” With that, the king turned towards Marzanna’s ‘prison’. He was about to open his mouth to end her life. And he would have, if Murtagh’s shout had not interrupted him.

A shout of a certain sentence, in the ancient language. Murtagh said it so quickly, with so much despair, almost as if he was grasping at his last resort. Eragon did not comprehend all the words.

There was one word, which stood out above every other in the sentence. Not because it was an extraordinary word. In fact, it was a basic one. Eragon would have understood it even with only what Brom taught him. It was the way Murtagh said it. He put so much faith, yet insecurity into it.

_Duty._

Eragon, who was prepared to deliver his final blow and send Murtagh to the land of dreams, froze in his place. Shivers ran across his skin. He found himself unable to move. He could feel his chest clutching and tightening around his heart and lungs, cutting his breath short.

A memory resurfaced on the front of his mind. Sloan’s voice resonated throughout him. “...As if someone had walked on my grave.”

And he had to agree with him.  That was exactly how it felt when Murtagh used his true name.

The Red Rider was looking up to him, blood pouring out of his temple, with anticipation and expectation at the same time. It seemed like the time in the room had stopped. From Eragon’s shaking hand, which had only moments ago been prepared to attack, fell Brisingr. Reality was catching up with the Blue Rider.

Murtagh’s eyes widened with surprise as Brisingr met the ground with a rattle. He slowly collected himself from the ground, just as his half-brother fell to his knees, beaten.

And he was not the only one falling.

An unexpected, sickening snap following the word ‘jierda’ cut through the tense silence of the room. Before anyone was able to look its way, the shackles rang against each other as they released Nasuada’s dead body from their grasp.

Eragon, who had not even recovered from the loss, turned his head. His mind did not fully register what had actually happened.

There, on the cold ground, where many lives throughout Galbatorix’s reign had ended, lay another victim. One might have expected a calm expression on Nasuada’s face. Instead, it was contorted in fear and bitter defeat. Her head was twisted at an odd angle above her snapped neck, and her wrists were almost flayed to the bone.

The Blue Rider’s breath seemed stuck in his lungs. He wanted to cradle the hope that she was just unconscious, but the way her body was twisted left no space for any spark of light. The world as he knew it was falling apart. He had failed everyone. He had lost the glowing lantern of all the Varden who followed her for a better future.

He did not know how long he was lost in his disbelief. He came to himself as Galbatorix was praising Murtagh, who at least had the decency to look ashamed, but clearly did not regret anything. 

“I am pleased, Murtagh. You might overshadow your father in the end,” said Galbatorix with satisfaction. Then his eyes, filled with a glint of madness, snapped towards Eragon. “We do not need to waste more time. Both of you make your vows of service so we may end the battle outside.”

The Blue Rider lifted his eyes from his former leader up to Marzanna, half hoping for help or any kind of support in her. He felt so beaten. He was not ready to face Galbatorix again, or for the first time.

But while Marzanna’s body was physically in its prison, her mind did not seem present at all. Her eyes were foggy and her face was expressionless. Eragon frowned and gave up any hope for backup.

“I am never becoming your servant,” Eragon spat defiantly.

The corners of Galbatorix’s mouth moved up into a vicious smile, yet his voice did not portray anything of the sort. “While I hoped for a different outcome, I am not disappointed. In the end, I do not need your will or cooperation to get an oath from you.”

“I would rather die than serve you!” Eragon shouted, his need for revenge suddenly catching up with him.

“You will need my permission for that,” Galbatorix said angrily as he turned to sit back at his throne, clearly pleased with himself.

He never made it there. Instead, he had to duck unnaturally quickly to the side and unsheathe his sword Vrangr. An icy statue, which no one had noticed until then, charged at him. For a while, Eragon believed it to be Boreas’ icy form, until he noticed differences. The statue was not moving fluidly at all. Instead, it seemed as if its legs were moving too slow in comparison to its arms. Instead of a magical light coming from its head, where the diamond filled with the energy to power Boreas’ other body was hidden, light shone from its hand, where ice grew over the diamond inside the pommel of Íssbrandr.

The statue swung its sword again at Galbatorix and cut through his cheek, leaving behind a bleeding wound. That seemed to enrage the king. Within a few moments, using all of his power and skills, he had completely destroyed the statue, until the sword was completely free of any ice. It was sent flying away from the king across the room, barely missing Eragon.

The king looked livid. Even Shruikan cowered slightly. It did not take long before Galbatorix’s eyes fell to Marzanna. The she-elf was pale with exertion, but darkly pleased with herself. Galbatorix’s protections and the use of the name of the ancient language did not seem to stop her magic.

“How dare you defy me you filthy creature!” With a few quick strides he walked towards Marzanna and clutched her head in his hands. Using some old, probably long forgotten spell, he immediately made the she-elf scream and writhe in pain, her wrists bleed profusely as the shackles bit at her skin.

It seemed like a minor pain in comparison to the one she was reliving inside her mind. Murtagh, who was until then standing, fell to the ground in screams as well, sharing the pain with Marzanna. The king was not thrown at all.

As everyone was ‘entertained’ in their way, no one paid any attention to the last person in the room. To the person, who was until recently body bound in place by the king, but who in his distraction had been let go of.

But all eyes were on her within a split second, as Arya, who had managed to sneak up on Shruikan, thrust Niernen into the black dragon’s head.

A deafening screech resonated within the room, making it vibrate and shake under its power. And soon, the throne room started to fall apart as Shruikan tried to shake off Niernan and Arya. But it was stuck deep inside, and Arya was holding onto it tightly. With his size, it was not unexpected that soon his head rammed into a column supporting the entire building.

Arya fell to the ground with Niernan, safely landing on her feet in a cat-like move. Without waiting for anything, and not slightly afraid to risk everything, she attacked again.

For the first time in more than a hundred years, Galbatorix looked surprised, and clueless. Eragon did not need to be told to act. He jumped after Íssbrandr, which he pulled to himself just in time before a few stones from the ceiling buried it. The adrenaline crusading through his blood made his injured thigh numb, making him forget about the wound almost entirely.

And that was how a farmer boy ended a century-long tyranny.

+BREAK+

The world was collapsing around him and on him and in him, yet there was only one thing on Murtagh’s mind. He caught a glimpse of Eragon fighting Galbatorix. He saw Arya trying to finish off Shruikan, who was wildly trying to throw her off, breathing out black flame that heated the room’s temperature to near intolerable levels. Thorn and Saphira were just joining her.

Yet, his eyes were focused only on the girl hanging limply from her shackles. He ran towards Marzanna, avoiding falling stones.

“Marzanna! Stay with me, please! Marzanna!” But there was no response. Murtagh lifted her head to look in her eyes and saw that she was flitting on the verge of consciousness. He let go of her and tried to open her shackles.

Spells were still not working. Murtagh registered Shruikan roaring in pain and anger, but did not waste his time looking that way. It just indicated that they did not have much time. He swung Zar’roc at her shackles.

Nothing happened.

Murtagh felt despair fill him. With every unsuccessful blow, the image of Marzanna buried beneath the building came more to life. He shouted out and, with as much strength as he could gather, hit the shackles one more time.

Marzanna’s body fell to the ground without any effort to stop her. Murtagh crouched beside her and tried to protect her with his body from the falling debris. The link between them was faded, but not disappearing. That calmed him partially.

“Watch out!” came from Eragon, and Murtagh looked up.

And he stared into a bottomless gaping black pit of sulphur and rotten meat braided with sharp yellowed teeth the size of a tree. There was still almost an entire room’s width between them, yet he could not see anything else.

Soon, the blackness started to fade away with a sinister flame as Shruikan, in his last attempt to survive, tried to burn everything around him.

Eragon, with elven speed, was running out of its reach, carrying the bloodied Íssbrandr, leaving the king’s corpse behind to be burnt and never recovered.

 _Murtagh!_ Thorn’s shout went ignored, unable to help his Rider.

All of this happened within a mere second. Murtagh felt his life flash before his eyes. He would be remembered in this world as a traitor. He closed his eyes and waited.

Out of nothing, something hard pinned him to the ground. A familiar welcomed feeling, filling the well-known gap inside his chest, appeared as Marzanna’s body pressed to his. He did not need to open his eyes to know.

But he opened them anyway to see an icy capsule forming around them. He could still hear and see through the icy cover the black flame blazing around them, burning everything but them in the process.

“You save my life, I save yours,” a faint voice whispered to him as Marzanna moved her lips only a few centimetres against his ear. The exertion was palpable in her voice as she constantly recreated layers and layers of ice to protect them from the inferno outside.

And then the black light disappeared, and everything seemed to go silent. They waited for a few more moments before Marzanna made the icy bunker disappear.

They were greeted by a scorched collapsed room. Pillars were broken and fallen against each other, supporting each other and thus, the building as well. All the luxury of the room was completely destroyed, burnt to ashes. A huge black dragon corpse was lying there, pouring tons of scolding dark sticky blood. Nasuada’s body was nowhere to be seen, and where Galbatorix’s corpse had previously lain, now there was only ashes that barely reminding a human body, surrounded by melted metal.

And then, all the vows he still felt to Galbatorix vanished.

_+BREAK+_

“Are you guys alright?” Eragon called to Murtagh and Marzanna in shock and joy. He survived through the inferno only thanks to Saphira, who protected him from the unbearable heat. It still left him with many burns and wounds, but once he had killed Galbatorix, he felt his access to his magic renewed. Thus, he could heal himself to some extent.

Thorn seemed to have done the same for Arya. They were out of Shruikan’s reach, behind his head. Yet, they still were victims to the scolding air.

He expected to feel victorious after ridding world of Galbatorix, but all he felt was worry, pain, loss, defeat. Eragon thought he had lost Marzanna and Murtagh in the fire, but he should have known better than to underestimate them.

He wobbled to them and helped the already-standing Marzanna to her feet. He expected her to lean towards him, but instead she slowly started staggering towards Galbatorix’s corpse. He looked at her in confusion. “What are you doing?”

“I am alright. Ch-check Murtagh. I just need…to see it...with my own eyes,” Marzanna murmured weakly. Eragon just shrugged and knelt towards Murtagh, any hard feelings from the previous affair vanishing with Galbatorix’s life.

“Let me heal you, brother,” he said softly to the Red Rider. Soon, they were accompanied by Thorn, fretting over his Rider. Using Thorn’s energy, they healed Murtagh’s wounds and managed to get him to his feet.

“Thank you,” murmured Murtagh, not daring to look Eragon in the eyes in his shame. “But it is not over yet. Let’s not waste time.” Together with Arya he climbed into his rider’s seat and waited for Eragon to do the same.

The Blue Rider looked towards Marzanna, who was crouched over Galbatorix’s burnt body, her back towards them. He took a few steps closer to her and called, “What is it?” There was a slight worry that the king might have survived even that.

Marzanna looked slightly alarmed. She blinked in confusion. “It..,it’s nothing. I just had a moment of weakness. Let’s go.” She shot up from the ground and oddly hobbled over to Saphira so the dragons could carry them outside. Eragon’s eyes stayed on the ashes of the corpse, which looked strangely dug through.

 _What is it, little one? We should go. The Varden needs us. Everyone needs us._ Eragon just shook his head, feeling as if something important was vanishing from his grasp, yet the harder he clutched, the more it escaped from his hands.

 _It’s nothing._ They quickly collected their weapons and set off towards the battle raging outside.


	26. Interludium - The Shadow Queen

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Beta-reader: Dragonblooded

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Hey, guys! I did not forget about this story! Working on it! Also, any support would be appreaciated. Be it in comments or in kudos! Thank you.

Nature has few laws, laws that need to be followed. Nature always instils balance. One could call it a law of balance.

If the world slipped over the cliff into chaos, a new order would be created. Natural balance governs everything and anything. Why water in an open bowl eventually disappears. No one realizes it, but everyone lives according to it.

Even evil must exist to balance good. One would cease to exist without the other.

But the world is unpredictable. Sometimes the weight on the imaginary scales of the world move and nature has to work its miracle to achieve balance again. As much as this sounds like justice, it is not. More often the scale moved in favour of the dark.

Once in a while, when one might expect it the least, it favoured the good. And it came as a surprise, when a drop of light appeared in the darkest place of all Alagaësia. This sparkly drop landed in the pan of the imaginary scales and the scales moved towards good.

A boy was born to Loviatar – the Malign Queen.

All were surprised. The royal bloodline of Norvedrgarde descended only through girls, and only through daughters until then. While some were pleased, many were worried. They did not welcome this change. But it should not have been a shock to anyone. In the end, in the heart of their city, ruled the Queen of Doom. It was as if they hoped that even though the plague had caught the rest of the world, they would be spared because they housed it.

For more than five years everyone cautiously watched the prince, named Örendisläst – Ören -- grow. It was then when Qybern decided to break the silence looming over the royal family. He went to see the queen, rather hesitant about it, but persuaded by the dark lurking shadow inside his head.

 _The prophecy cannot be broken. Act now!_ He could feel the urgency behind the words. He knocked on his queen’s door and waited until he was invited in.

“My queen.” Qybern’s eyes slipped to the black crown sitting on her head. Loviatar looked up to him. She had aged over the course of years, since they had brought her back to Qybern to nurse her back to health. And he understood why they needed to act now.

Loviatar looked at him, her expression empty, and nodded to him to come closer. “What is it, Qybern? Do not be afraid to talk to me. You saved my life, and for that I will always be grateful.”

“I am aware that this is not a matter I should intervene with, but I feel it is my duty to say so. I have been around for many years and we cannot allow your bloodline to go extinct,” Qybern said carefully.

The queen frowned and looked back at him. “Of course. My son will take care of it. Where is the problem?”

“What if something happened to your son, my queen? What then?” asked Qybern, the anxiety lacing his voice.

“Are you suggesting that someone is planning to kill my son?” The queen raised her voice. She stood up, and a cautious spark appeared in her eyes. She minimized the distance between them and loomed over Qybern, with an authority only the title of queen could bestow. “Who? It best not be those who call themselves nobles in my own kingdom,” Loviatar murmured angrily.

During the many years when Loviatar was gone, twenty-seven elves rose amongst the others and formed something that Norvedrgarde eventually started calling the elven nobility. They really were something like guildmasters, chosen by the people with the same interests to defend their needs. They did not have royal blood.

When the queen returned, she had tolerated them in good will, since the kingdom had not fallen apart without her. But only a few elves from this nobility were pleased with a future king instead of a queen, and Loviatar knew this all too well.

“N-no! That is not what I meant at all!” Qybern tried to calm the queen while backing away from her, but his feet were glued to the ground.

“Then what danger is my son in?!” The queen shouted now, her body tensed, prepared to protect her son.

She looked into Qybern’s eyes and what she saw made her skip a breath. Behind her servant’s eyes a dark presence lay. It had always been there, but only now was it so close to its surface. Because only now had it really felt fear.

Suddenly, Qybern’s hands shot up and clutched the queen’s hand between his fingers. “ _You shall have another child, just in case something happened to your precious son.”_ It was Qybern who said it, but the voice did not belong to him. This voice was empty of emotions, of any inflection of the ancient language.

In that second, the darkness in Qybern’s eyes transferred to Loviatar’s. “ _I will have another child,”_ repeated the queen in an emotionless voice.

As Qybern’s hands fell away from the queen, the darkness melted into their eyes. They both looked confused. Neither remembered why they had spoken and why they stood so close to each other.

They parted.

Not even a year later, another baby was born to Loviatar. A girl.

She was named Pangari.

Loviatar pushed her away from her as soon as possible, handing her to her maid. It was so unlike how she was with her son, who she had cradled for as long as she could. The queen always looked at Pangari with a strange confused expression. And the nobles around her noticed it. The more distance the queen put between herself and her daughter, the closer the nobles felt to Pangari.

The years flew by. Ören was soon fourteen years old. He was growing to become a good monarch, just like his mother was before she changed. Instead of fun, his days were filled with royal duties, and he enjoyed it.

One day, Ören had a lesson in diplomacy with his mother, who lovingly taught him everything she knew. He was a bright boy and caught on quickly. There was a smile on his face that reached his green eyes as he enjoyed the lesson. His brown hair was combed properly, not allowing anything to fall out of order. It would not be worthy of a future king.

“Unpredictability is a key to a survival. Never let anyone figure out your routine or you can find yourself easily stabbed in the back,” explained Loviatar, her own experience from Éwayëna. She inhaled to continue, but a soft knock on the door interrupted her.

The door opened to reveal her young daughter. There was nothing similar between the siblings. Pangari was pale, like most of her ancestors, with silver hair and cold eyes. Unlike her brother, she rarely smiled, and there was something too adult in her eyes for a child her age.

“What?” asked her mother in irritation. “I told you not to disturb us.”

The girl calmly came to them and sat on the ground next to her brother, since there were only two chairs in the room. Clearly, the room was not supposed to be for two pupils. “May I join the lesson?” asked Pangari hopefully.

“No. This is a lesson worthy only of a future monarch. Your brother,” said the queen impatiently.

“I might be a future monarch, too. And I need to know how to be a good one,” said Pangari.

The queen frowned with contempt hidden in her eyes, but Pangari still saw. “That is not going to happen. If you want to be a good princess, be obedient,” advised her mother. “Leave.”

Pangari seemed to swallow some other arguments she had prepared, collected herself, and left the room without looking back. She did not want her mother to see the tears in her eyes. With a dignity not suiting her age, she walked through the hallway towards the main room.

There the tempting black crown was seated, when her mother did not wear it, like then. Pangari knew she was not supposed to be there, but how could her mother know, when she was so busy with her darling brother? She seated herself on the throne, put the crown on her lap, and closed her eyes. Soon, a warm mind enveloped her and soothed the ache of her mother’s rejection.

Pangari did not understand what the crown was, but she did not care. It whispered nice words to her, and that was all that mattered.

“Princess, you are not supposed to be here,” said a voice from the other side of the room. Pangari was startled, but managed not to show it. She exactly knew how not to look suspicious. She slowly opened her eyes and looked at Qybern. He was her favourite person. She liked him far more than her mother.

“I know.” She did not give an excuse for her presence, just acknowledged Qybern’s.

No words needed to be said for Qybern to know what had happened. Again. He slowly walked towards her and knelt next to the throne, so they would be face to face. “I have a gift for you. I know you are too young to carry weapons around, but I could not bear the thought of you being defenceless if something happened.” He reached into his pocket and presented her with a dagger in a small sheath.

Pangari’s eyes sparkled with childish joy, finally looking like someone her own age. She reached for the dagger and Qybern willingly handed it over. “It is called Domia um Dagr. Dominance over dawn. Use it to protect yourself and promise to be careful with it.” Qybern smiled at her and stroked her hair gently.

“I promise,” whispered Pangari. She clutched the sheath tighter in her tiny hands, finally feeling appreciated.

It was understandable to her that her mother’s main focus was to prepare her brother for his future role. A few occasions of neglect were tolerable and excusable. But that day was not a rare occasion. Over the years, moments like that cumulated.

The years passed by and everyone grew older – except for Qybern. As the queen got more and more tired, she transferred many of her duties onto Ören. Soon, he ruled the Winter Kingdom, while his mother watched from her chambers, too tired to attend to it anymore.

Ören tried to be a good ruler, but he struggled with resistance from the nobility. Most of them made it difficult for him to rule by expecting him to fulfil their ridiculous demands. Only a few of them supported his decisions. But he never complained, and bore it as a part of his role in the world.

The guildmaster of agriculture was especially supportive. Norvedrgarde stood on a very strategic place. Beneath the city lay a system of naturally created corridors surrounding rivers, which penetrated the earth’s crust and then returned as hot springs. The water of these rivers met in a lake under the city, from which the rivers parted again and flew their ways.

Ören used the heat from the lake to nurture certain types of plants which would not grow in Norvedrgarde otherwise. The seeds he had delivered from the elves in Du Weldenvarden, who accepted him as a skilled leader of the Winter Kingdom and were willing to trade with him. Even various books from the elves of Du Weldenvarden were added to the outdated library in Norvedrgarde.

The city was built from a black ore, which seemed to consume a lot of the little daylight they received that the plants needed. Ören and some of his supporters created a special paint made of white pebbles scattered in the north. They painted the flowerbeds with this paint to maximize the amount of daylight they received.

That earned him support of some other nobles. But many remained faithful to his sister. If it was not for their resistance, he would not care about their loyalty at all. His sister’s presence complicated the situation. It was only a matter of days and a few letters in exchange until he had a solution at hand.

Later that day he paid his sister a visit. He knocked on her door and patiently waited for a few seconds for an answer. But he got none.

Ören opened the door and entered the dim room. Only a few candles were lit, casting many shadows on the walls around them. On the bed sat his sister, toying with her infamous dagger. “You were not invited in,” she said coldly, not looking at her older brother.

“You did not answer,” returned Ören. He walked closer to her and sat on the edge of her bed, trying to mimic a close sibling relationship. “Pack your things. We are going to Ellesméra.”

His sister finally looked at him, suspiciously. “What for? You never take me on your diplomatic trips,” she answers with a contempt with which she was regarded for years.

“You will marry the prince of Du Weldenvarden,” stated her brother assertively.

“Pardon me? I am not marrying anyone. Does Mother know about this? I am not some broodmare to be sold.” His sister raised from her bed in anger, trying to put more distance between herself and her brother.

Ören only shook his head. “That is not a choice of yours. It is necessary to stabilize our fragile alliance. They will not treat you poorly, I made sure of that. And yes, Mother knows and agrees. She knows we are leaving, one of us for good.”

“Yes, how typical of her. She only cares for you anyway.”

“That’s not true!” exclaimed Ören, but that was where the conversation ended. “You will marry him and you will merge with him in a wedding ritual,” ended her brother the conversation by leaving the room.

“What ritual?” Shouted Pangari after him, but he was already gone.

 _Du Ásja Samför,_ spoke to her a strange presence, which invaded her mind for a second before it disappeared into nothing again. The princess flinched and looked around cautious for an intruder. Never had she felt something like that. For a while she believed she just hallucinated it, since it sounded so weak and as if the being itself was fragile and very tired.

Yet, the words were too specific for her to let it go.

Soon, she climbed over the wobbly stairs leading into her Kingdom’s library, where ancient books and old scrolls were cumulated over the years. She allowed her subconscious mind to lead her. Her body seemed to know exactly where to go, without her conscience interfering with it.

Her fingers glided over the dust-covered leather covers of various books, until they found the one book they were searching for. Pangari removed it from the shelf and immediately started flipping through the pages, until she encountered those words: _Du Ásja Samför_.

Her eyes quickly scanned through the old curly writings on the yellowish parchment in disbelief. With enraged scream and fury flaming in her eyes Pangari ripped part of a page away and crumbled her in her palms. She walked around the room, until she found a candle and set it on fire in order to burn the damn parchment to nothing but ash. As the tiny fire came to life it casted her shadow on the wall behind her. Even the shadow seemed enraged.

She would not let them have her true name. She would not let them abuse her powers.

The next day they left Norvedrgarde. Ören was very thorough and made sure only his loyal guards went with them, leaving his sister’s guards behind. His sister remained silent the entire way to Ellesméra.

He tried to gently remind her of her manners once they reached Ellesméra. But he was met only with deadly stares and, for his own safety, backed down.

They were greeted with a huge feast upon their arrival, held outside in an opening between trees, which the elves there seemed to honour. At the head of the opening was the infamous Menoa Tree. The forest offered shadow from the scorching sun and thus created the perfect place to celebrate with various delicacies such as berry wine and mead.

This was a huge event in history. Finally, these two diverse kingdoms would be united, and a peace was ensured. Everyone but one person celebrated. Pangari did not bother to introduce herself to her future husband, who looked at her with admiration laced with fear. She watched her brother with hatred.

Ören raised his glass filled with the infamous elven wine and toasted. “Let us drink to our happy couple. Shall their marriage be just as peaceful as the peace they are ensuring for us.” The others raised their glasses. Only Pangari did not.

The silence loomed over the opening as they all waited for her to do the same.

“I am not marrying anyone,” she stated, her voice soft, yet sharp as a blade. Her brother frowned at her.

“You will,” he said sternly, clenching his jaw.

A dark presence glittered in her eyes for a second. “If you need a reason, I will give you one,” she said viciously. She snatched her dagger from the sheath tied to her ankle and thrust it into the heart of her fiancé and twisted.

All the poor elf managed to do was gasp and look up into Pangari’s eyes, lost in the dark shadow coming forth from within. Then the light inside his eyes disappeared.

It was as if the world stopped for a minute, the weight of the imaginary scales suddenly twitching, and eventually, favouring the dark balance pan.

The guards immediately jumped from their chairs, but shock was still written all over their faces. But Pangari paid it no mind. She pulled the dagger out of the prince’s chest, straightened herself, and looked towards her brother. The lights cast her shadow on the tree behind her. The shadow seemed to suddenly grow and darken.

As the guards finally neared her, the shadow gained its own life and attacked the closest guard’s shadow. Suddenly, the guard fell to the ground without being touched, his throat slashed.

Soon, the same happened to everyone, but the prince Ören.

Pangari, nothing in her way, made her way towards her brother, leaving her shadow behind her. For the first time, there was fear in her brother’s eyes. He held a sword in front of himself, prepared to fight for his life.

He was well aware of the odd magic coursing through their blood, and he knew that his sister had been awakened. All his life he had worked towards being a good monarch, and now it had all been ripped away from him. “We could have had peace,” he said with a trembling, defeated voice. “We could have had it all, and you ruined it. But I am not letting you take my life, too.”

His sister smiled wickedly, her irises devoured by the darkness completely. “You said one of us is leaving for good. And it is not me.” She fearlessly charged at him.

Ören swung his sword at her. He would probably have hit her if someone had not tackled him to the ground. The air was forced out of his lungs and the sword wrenched from his hand. He looked around in confusion. No one had landed on top of him.

And that was when he noticed the sinister silence which fell over the opening. He looked around and all the elves, his and theirs alike, were slaughtered.

Meanwhile, his sister knelt next to him and smiled at him with dark pleasure. “We may share the same blood, but the magic lives inside me. Your life goes in vain,” she finished and slowly pressed the dagger inside his heart.

Loviatar knew something had happened. She waited for days for her beloved son to return, but it did not happen. No message came either. Her powers whispered to her and warned her.

So when the door to her chamber burst open, she was not taken aback. She looked at her daughter, the monster she created and immediately knew what happened. “You never should have lived. You are nothing but doom for this kingdom.”

“That I am. In the end, the Malign Queen created my brother to doom this kingdom and then the Malign Queen created me to doom the rest of the world,” she said. A smile appeared on her face.

The light from the hall shining on Pangari cast a shadow on the wall behind her mother. The shadow moved and gripped Loviatar’s neck and squeezed.

Loviatar lapped for air which never reached her lungs. She tried to fight her invisible attacker, tried to touch him in order to poison him. But her powers were useless against the shadow. The queen’s body hit the floor, her pale skin veiled with blue.

The little drop of light on the side of good was nothing compared to the evil his sister caused. The weight of the scales rapidly changed its course in favour of the dark balance pan, returning everything into the old rails, where there is no justice in the world, and where evil is favoured more.

 


	27. The Battle III

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Beta-reader: Dragonblooded

The air was filled with ash and dust. It irritated Eragon’s nose and throat as he made his way outside the palace with his friends. His tearducts were long dry from the effort to keep his eyes clean, to no avail.

The journey back was taking them longer than the one in. It worried Eragon. Maybe they had fought for nothing. Everyone they knew outside could be dead by now. But he had to focus now. Otherwise, they might soon join them. The building was somewhat stable then, but any disruption could easily change that. The threat of being buried alive was real.

 _And I thought killing Galbatorix would be the hardest part,_ grumbled Eragon to Saphira. Even she and Thorn had to move carefully.

Arya had deserted them some time ago.

_+FLASHBACK+_

They were just about to leave the crown room when Arya stopped dead in her tracks. Eragon looked behind himself when he did not hear her footsteps. The she-elf was staring daggers at Marzanna’s back with a dangerous spark in her eyes. She shook her head.

“Go ahead. I will catch up with you later,” Arya called after them, taking a few steps back.

“What? Arya, this building is collapsing! We have to get out of here,” Eragon protested, extending his hand to her. Losing Nasuada was enough. He did not plan to see his other friend go.

She just smirked and shook her head. “I am not leaving the egg here. I can take care of myself.”

“Do you also plan on risking your life to save all the eldunarí as well?” asked Marzanna snarkily. If there was one person he feared losing the most - except for Saphira of course - it was her. The white-haired elf had become precious to him. For some time Eragon believed it to be only infatuation, but soon he realized that even his rationale found her pleasing, right for him.

Eragon could happily lose himself in that train of thought, but he could not afford it. Not yet.

Arya shot her a hateful glance. “Of course. It would be a crime not to. They have suffered enough. You’re a Dragon Rider. Have some respect,” she hissed.

Marzanna only shrugged and turned her back on her again. “They are not alive anymore. I would like to stay that way.” Murtagh and Thorn followed her.

Eragon and Arya looked at each other, one stare saying more than words could explain. With a nod, they parted, hoping it was not the last time they saw each other.

+END OF FLASHBACK+

The traps inside the hall were already deactivated, but it did not make it any less dangerous. The ceiling had partly fallen in, and the walls were cracked, barely supporting their own weight. Even the wind outside threw small stones and pebbles at their heads.

Luckily, they were nearing the end. Soon, they got out. Eragon’s claustrophobia slowly dissipated. But he was celebrating too soon.

In this last part of the hall, right before the huge gate, the walls were collapsed more than elsewhere. It almost seemed like some tower had destabilized during Shruikan’s onslaught and crashed into the roof right above them. They successfully crawled out, including Thorn, Saphira following. As she was just about to pass, the walls screeched and cracked.

 _Saphira!_ screamed Eragon, feeling her distress through their bond. He tried to recall any spells which might help her, but stopping the huge mass might have been above even his skills, the distance between them not helping.

A few bricks fell from the ceiling towards Saphira like an apocalyptic rain. Even more panicked, she accidentally hit the wall, speeding up the process. She roared as the stones landed on her wings and tail.

Huge chunk of ceiling loosened. Gravity did the rest. Saphira tried to move out of the way, but she was too slow. The brick would have hit her, had something not stopped it midair. They all looked up to see a huge white paw gripping it.

Saphira and the group hurried out of the building onto the square in front of it, all breathing out a sigh of relief.

 _I see I came just in time,_ said Boreas with pride as he landed next to them, throwing away the piece of ceiling. Marzanna hurried towards him happily while the rest of them opened their mind to him. _It would have inconvenient to find you all crushed. Your help is very much needed.”_

“That’s impossible. The king is dead. I felt my vows disappear!” Murtagh exclaimed. There was a spark of doubt that perhaps the sneaky king had found his way around death.

Suddenly, Thorn added, _He had to have a failsafe. If I were him, I would not leave any chance for the Varden to get their way._ To that, they all had to agree.

Eragon absent-mindedly healed Saphira’s wounded wings. The battle was not over, but he felt tired already. “Where are Oromis and Glaedr? I don’t see them anywhere.” Angst clutched his stomach.

 _Take a wild guess,_ Boreas growled back, clearly annoyed. _Oromis had a seizure. They are now healing the wounded in the main camp. Jörmundur and Orrin are leading the Varden now. Your help is needed near the eastern guard tower,_ the white dragon addressed Eragon directly.

The Blue Rider did not enjoy being commanded. “Then why don’t you help?” Eragon asked childishly.

Boreas laughed deep in his throat at Eragon’s effort to establish dominance, reminiscent of the collapsing hall inside. _Orrin needs me somewhere else. To save some lives, perhaps. Maybe even your cousin._ With a quick but loving glance he parted with Marzanna and took off.

There was a silence Marzanna broke. “Instead of this useless bickering, you might want to make yourself useful.” Without explanation, she turned on her heel and soon disappeared into the streets. Eragon could not put a finger on it, but there was something off about her. It was tugging on his nerves, as if warning him.

The half-brothers looked at each other, dumbfounded. “Um, I am going after...with...her,” stammered out the Red Rider, and before Eragon could protest, he ran after her. Thorn took off to watch over them from above.

The Blue Rider climbed on top of Saphira. _Well, my beloved, it seems like we are all alone again. Let’s finish this finally._

Saphira sent him her approval.

_+BREAK+_

_Roran’s POV_

There had been times when Roran thought battles were glorious, almost heroic. Back then, he was young. He still had a father, who took him and Eragon to the town to listen to the crazy storyteller Brom. He dreamt about becoming a fearsome warrior, instead of a mundane farmer.

He did not realize what he had. Not until he lost it.

He wished all his scars had come from rakes and stones and hard work, instead of killing. Battles were nowhere near glorious. No song ever mentioned how the soldiers were so often uninformed, how often they would kill one of their own. How there are scattered body parts, fighters with dead eyes who could have had a bright and shining future. They would never see it.

That was what came to Roran’s mind when he watched Lord Barst kill man after man, elf after elf. Not caring for a single second.

Roran was leading his unit, men and Urgals, fighting alongside other famous generals and their soldiers. They had been fighting for quite some time, but were getting nowhere.

While Barst was certainly the most efficient and bloodthirsty, his own soldiers weren’t far behind. They were the disgusting creatures who did not feel pain.

No matter how many soldiers they sent Barst’s way, they never got any closer to harming him. That flashed through Roran’s mind as he saw another graceful elven soldier fall dead with a crushed chest.

Suddenly, pain brought him back to focus. There was a long gash on his forearm where one of the formerly “dead” soldiers had slashed him with his sword. Roran roared with anger and swung his hammer at him, crushing his skull and definitely ending his life. He did not bother counting kills anymore. Countless had become a new word to him.

One of the Urgals was becoming outnumbered by the painless beasts. Not even his strength could help him. Roran did not like Urgals, but without hesitation he jumped to his aid. His hammer collided with one soldier’s spine, making a huge round dent in his Imperial armour. This distracted the others. The Urgal managed to take one or two out, slowly pushing back at them.

Roran made sure that everyone from his unit was managing before he looked back to Barst, trying to devise some sort of strategy. He had already figured out that they needed to separate him from the breastplate of his armour. They had to act quickly, because they would soon be outnumbered. The elves were being forced to pull back after Queen Islanzadí’s death.

But he could not kill Barst alone. Before he was able to begin any semblance of a plan, someone touched his shoulder. He was about to swing to at his attacker when he realized who it was.

“Carn! You were about to see angels. What?” barked Roran.

The human spellcaster did not seem fazed. “New orders from Orrin. We are to pull back. Other units are already doing so.”

Roran growled to himself and contemplated his situation. He had not sworn any oaths to Orrin; he was free to disobey him. He was so sure he could take out Barst. That could turn the tide of the battle. “He is no leader of mine. We can kill Barst and then the rest of the beasts!”

Carn, well used to this temper, stopped the bleeding on his forearm with a spell. While it angered Roran that the spellcaster was wasting energy on him, he appreciated it. “I know. But you can’t fight them alone, Roran. There are too few of us. Besides, I was told Eragon could use our help.”

That stopped Roran mid-path. He had decided to stop Barst himself if he had to, but this swayed him. His cousin was far more use to him alive. In the end, he was his only living relative. Katrina was his life, but if anything happened to him, Eragon was the only one he trusted to take care of her.

“Let’s go,” he said to Carn. Then, he looked to his unit and gave the order to leave. They followed him almost blindly, leaving their fallen beloved behind. They soon fought their way out and his unit disappeared into the streets, away from the painless demons.

Roran looked back. The Varden had cleared the area. Only one unit stayed behind, fighting and quickly losing to Barst and his group, who did not seem to notice in their bloody haze that there were less people.

The remaining Varden were not fighters. They could barely hold their weapons. They fell like flies. Roran did not understand, why the Varden would leave them to die, and that made him uneasy. He entrusted leadership to Carn for a while and stayed behind.

Then, his ears were pierced by an unbearable screech from above. He looked up and there, above the houses, above the roaming battles, were four creatures Roran had never seen.

They look similar to dragons, yet more serpent-like. The Fanghur of Beor Mountains. They carried no Riders, yet their paws were occupied. Their clutches were wrapped around odd-looking vessels. As they flew above Barst and the remainder of the Varden, the vessels dropped.

It seemed as if the time had slowed down. The bottles crashed, releasing white, almost transparent fumes. It quickly started spreading amongst the Varden and the king’s men alike.

For a minute, nothing happened. Then, Roran witnessed something he would not forget until his death.

Almost simultaneously they all started twitching, as if they had had a collective seizure. Not long after, that they all collapsed to the ground as the paralytic substance overtook them.

Invisible to the eyes, their muscles overcontracted and stopped responding, including the ones used for breathing. For a few long minutes, no one moved at all as their bodies were claimed by suffocation, their hearts eventually stopping. Not even Barst was immune to that. Not even his shields and Galbatorix’ wits in his protections could counteract Orrin’s passionate experiments.

The paralytic substance spread through the streets toward Roran, too shocked to move. The barely visible cloud reached its claws to him, ready to wrap him in its embrace.

A huge wave of wind tore him out of his shock and sent away the gas. Roran looked up to see a huge white dragon in the sky, keeping the nerve agent away from the Varden members too close to the damage. Roran was shaken to the core. He wished he had not stayed behind. He would be haunted forever. But that was not the time to dwell on fear. Roran thought of Katrina and forced himself to focus. With that, he ran to catch up with his unit.

_+BREAK+_

_Eragon’s POV_

The bird’s eye view - or maybe dragon’s eye view – was beautiful. The entire city was coated in the final rays of the day, giving everything an almost romantic look. In the reduced light, the city lamps were finally noticeable. Eragon had to give it to Galbatorix; he had cared for how the city looked. From their height, even the Urgals seemed like tiny ants to Eragon.

 _What’s that?_ Eragon pointed towards a huge, slightly conic, pillar standing in the middle of a square. He had never seen anything like it before. For a while, he forgot the terrors of the war around him. He felt a sinister shiver run down his spine when he looked at it, as if something powerful resided in there.

Saphira snorted. _That is a plague memorial. It was rebuilt around 80 years ago, after it was destroyed during the Fall,_ she answered as if it were completely natural to know that information.

 _And how would you know that?_ asked the Blue Rider, taken aback.

 _You would have known it, too, had you not been distracted during that lesson by a certain elf._ To that Eragon could only blush, recalling that he wasn’t exactly attentive a few days after the night he had spent with Marzanna. Luckily, Saphira decided not to torment him more. _I am surprised it was not mentioned in that book of yours. It was built during the time the Malign Queen reigned. The plague took many lives then. Even the elves hoped it could protect them. But unlike this human one, there were probably some spells on the original. This was an elven city, after all._

Eragon made a mental note to read further about it or even ask Oromis. _They must really value it. Not even the king’s soldiers will fight near it._

For a little longer they marvelled at the beauty of Uru’baen, quickly catching glimpses of what Saphira called George’s Fountain. Soon, they spotted the eastern guard tower. Or at least, what was left of it.

Looking back on it, it seemed Glaedr or Boreas had helped push through the ramparts. The walls broke right next to the eastern guard tower and the Varden and the dwarves started to filter through, only to find themselves surrounded by Imperial Soldiers pouring in on all sides. To Eragon, it looked like a letter T, with the Varden trapped in the middle.

There would have been no problem retreating, of course, had not the East Guardtower did not collapse into the hole. Not only did it trap the Varden, it crushed many of them under the merciless weight of the stones.

 _I don’t understand why the king’s soldiers are still fighting. He is dead. They shouldn’t be bound to him anymore,_ Eragon said in concern. It pained him to see the loss of so many lives.

Saphira was silent for a while, shortening the distance between them and the trapped Varden. She tried to find an explanation for the tragedy, but could not. _We cannot save everyone. If they don’t stop obeying him, they are necessary sacrifices._

Eragon could only grumble angrily. _I know, but that doesn’t mean I enjoy it._ There was remorse in his voice.

Finally, Saphira started descending towards one of the T’s wings. With Eragon’s support, Saphira announced their presence with a loud, earthshattering roar, which made even the doors of the city’s houses rattle in their hinges.

The imperial army barely had time to turn their heads before they were showered with fire. Saphira’s neck muscles tightened with effort, the entirety of one wing disappearing from their line of sight.

But then, Eragon noticed that something was very wrong.

 _Saphira, stop! Or you’ll kill our own!_ Eragon shouted and Saphira, without question, shut her mouth, right before they were about to reach the middle – the Varden.

The Varden were scared, but mostly tired from their fights, and relieved to see their symbol of hope. But that was not what caught Eragon’s attention. As the fire died down, it revealed rows of archers aiming towards them, the rest of the army’s wing completely unhurt and unfazed.

Saphira instinctively waved her wings up and away from the arrows, but it was still not quick enough. Within a matter of seconds, Eragon heard the sinister thrum of the bowstrings being released, and the whistling of arrows soon caught up with it.

The arrows passed right through Eragon’s shields. One hit Saphira’s popliteus. Another got stuck between the thin scales on her belly, others partly piercing her wings. Eragon wasn’t spared either. His shoulder blade stopped one arrow from going any further.

The Blue Rider did not feel his own pain at all. Instead, he shared that of his dragoness as she released an injured roar, which slowly turned into a yelping sound. They quickly started losing height, disappearing from the armies’ sight behind the broken ramparts.

Eragon could not remember ever fearing more for Saphira than in that moment. They were falling in such a manner that if they crashed, it would break Saphira’s wings. He did not know if he was screaming aloud or inside his mind.


	28. The Battle IV

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Beta-reader: Dragonblooded
> 
> Also, any support will be highly appreciated. Thank you.

Eragon could not remember ever fearing more for Saphira than in that moment. They were falling in such a manner that if they crashed, it would break Saphira’s wings. He did not know if he was screaming aloud or inside his mind.

At the last second, Saphira performed one of the techniques Glaedr had taught her and landed safely, but still roughly. Eragon’s saddle kept him in place, but he could feel his vertebrae forced snugly together, then stretched apart by their momentum. In the end, he was sore, but alive.

 _Saphira!_ But the dragoness did not answer. Without hesitation, he unclipped himself from the saddle and jumped down ignoring his own pains. He rushed to her head and immediately placed his palms on her, hoping to connect with her better.

Her eyes were closed and she breathed heavily, tired from the exertion. But what caught Eragon’s attention was the arrow stuck in one of her nostrils. _Saphira, talk to me._ Carefully, he wrapped his fingers around the arrow’s body and pulled it out.

Saphira whined and moved her head away from him. Eragon patiently walked to her again and put his silver palm on her muzzle. He searched with his mind for Brom’s ring Aren, which was filled with mesmerizing amount of energy. A valuable gift from his father, which he appreciated now more than ever. “Waíse heill!” The shallow wound healed fairly quickly.

Saphira opened her eyes. Eragon could see the gratitude in them. He smiled. No words needed.

Methodically he proceeded to her more serious wounds, skipping the smaller ones to spare time and energy. The entire process took only a few minutes, but minutes were more expensive than ever.

Lastly, he managed to treat himself as well. _I wish I had my armour from Farthen Dur,_ he complained, gripping the arrow from his shoulder-blade tightly. He was about to throw it away when he tilted the arrow a certain way and the light reflected on a shiny surface in it.

His good elven vision enabled him to study it further. There, in the arrow’s body, was placed a small amethyst. Eragon reached out with his mind and sure enough, he found enough energy there to power a spell counteracting his shields.

 _These could have killed us,_ Eragon said in shock. He has been using the same protective spell since Brom had taught him it. He angrily threw the arrow on the ground and quickly climbed on top of Saphira. She was just as stunned as he. _We have to go back. We can’t leave the Varden there. But I also need to find the spellcasters protecting the king’s army._

Saphira slowly took off and looked expectantly towards the sky. _Then this might be helpful._ Eragon looked up just in time to see the infamous red dragon descending from the sky, prepared to fight side by side with them. He greeted her with a loud growl and she roared happily back, filled with new energy for the upcoming fight.

The Blue Rider was surprised that Saphira did not call for Boreas. He looked around, somewhat hoping to see him with Marzanna. But he knew he had not seen them leave together.

Boreas was almost half the city away from them, closer to the gates, flying in a circle around a certain square. Not far from him flew four odd creatures. Eragon felt his blood freeze, thinking it was the Lethrblaka. Soon, he spotted differences. _Aren’t those… Fanghur?_ He shook his head to refocus on their target.

He bared his mind and sent it into space, flying through the open sea of minds searching for anything odd. As Oromis had told him, spellcasters weren’t likely to take advantage of his state. Instead, they would hide behind their walls.

It was taking him quite a while, while Saphira and Thorn distracted all three wings of the Royal Army. He was half expecting for Letho to be protecting them, but he could not find that twisted Shade mind of his anywhere near them. That would usually worry him, but he did not have time for that now.

Suddenly, he felt a familiar touch from another mind. A mind he knew quite well by then. _Arya!_ Eragon was relieved to see her not buried under ton of stones. His eyes quickly scanned the area.

And soon he caught a glimpse of the green brightsteel and the infamous Niernen. A leather bag hung by her side. Of course, she couldn’t save the eldunarí, but the green egg had to be saved. It would hopefully hatch soon.

She ran agilely from the main street to the back of the wing of the army. _I am happy to see you,_ Arya answered after Eragon explained the situation. _Maybe Galbatorix gave some of the eldunarí to other spellcasters, too. But that sounds too reckless, even for him. It had to be…._

She suddenly stopped speaking. Eragon followed her attention. There was a familiar bald wizard hiding inside one of the houses. Eragon felt his stomach twist with anger and contempt. The Twins! It made sense that if Murtagh was alive, so were they. The half-brothers had never really spoken about them and their fate.

It suddenly made sense, then, why the arrows had the perfect counter-spell. The twins had witnessed him perform it back in Farthen Dur. The idea that those slimy creatures could have cost them their lives made Eragon’s blood boil.

 _I will get him. But there seems to only be one of them,_ Arya said and quickly, unseen, she slipped towards the house. It pleased Eragon darkly to know that Arya was going after them.

Now, once he knew what he was looking for, it was easy to locate the other twin. The fact that they had scanned his mind back then now made it easier, their minds having already met.

The bastard was running through some smaller alleys between the streets, hiding in the darkness. His mind was heavily guarded; he had already realized he was discovered.

Saphira brought Eragon further from the army and lower, allowing him to jump onto the roof and return to Thorn. The Blue Rider skilfully jumped from roof to roof and then quickly to the ground. On his way he paid attention to his surroundings, as he thought Oromis would want him to.

He was quicker than the man. He almost cornered him by a rather tall building on the edge of the central street, far from the army’s wing. But there he slipped through some smaller cracks Eragon had a hard time fitting through.

The chase continued. He finally caught up with him around halfway to the centre. He saw the one twin run towards a building that reminded him of a granary. The street was already lightened by the odd city lamps. Something about them was strangely familiar, but Eragon paid it no mind as he ran past a well.

He walked towards the granary, stepped over some sort of canal, and carefully opened the door, unsheathing Brisingr. Instead, his eyes were overwhelmed with light.

Eragon had to blink a few times before he adjusted. The entire inside was filled with the same lamps he saw outside. Even the floor was dug out so more lamps could fit. And there, in front of them, stood that damn dwarf.

“Why?” Eragon was only able to say. He had so many questions, but they all started with the same word. Why did they betray the Varden, why did they kidnap Murtagh, why did they decide to assassinate him, why where there so many lamps?

The twin did not face him, accepting death. Eragon could not see it, but the dwarf no longer even protected the army outside. “Why?” cackled the twin bitterly. “You of them all dare to ask why?” Turned to him the man, a wild spark shining in his eyes. “My brother and I… we were the most powerful spellcasters everywhere we came,” whispered the twin, lost in a reminiscence. “But then again, with how pathetic the other Varden spellcasters were, that was not difficult to become the best.”

“They should have treated us better,” growled the man angrily. “In the world of dragons, elves and dwarves, humans are the weakest and the most flawed race. And from the lowest point we rose. The strongest human spellcasters the nature created,” beamed proudly the man.

“So, how come we ended as some dumb gatekeepers?! Commanded by those unfit to command!” spat the twin on the ground in the direction of Eragon. “The Vardens should have worshipped us, we were the best they stumbled upon for a quite long time!” shouted the twin at Eragon. “We considered switching sides, not fully decided if it was worth the risk,” shrugged the Twin, now completely collected.

The way the man looked at him with contempt, clearly considering him inferior. “Then, only then imagine… the only hope of Vardens, elves and dwarves finally arrives,” paused the Twin for a while. “And it is a poorly skilled farmer boy, who barely reached maturity. Just try to imagine our disappointment and our doubts. Saphira made a mistake when she did not choose one of us. We would have become a force to be reckon with, knowing everything from the elves.

No one could oppose us.”

The man did not speak for a while and only turned towards to lights, mesmerized by them. It was then Eragon finally paid them the attention they needed. His stomach twisted. “You know,” started the spellcaster. “The explosion under Tronjheim was caused by a lamp, broken in a closed space. It even caused a fuss up here. The king often said that if he couldn’t have Uru’baen, then no one would.”

The bald man turned to him with a sadistic, twisted smirk on his face. “Long may you live.”

Eragon had left his mind open, so he felt the Twin start to form a spell he never thought he would witness. He heard the words and could not believe them. He ran towards the exit. The words in the ancient language summoned the man’s dead brother, taking energy from the living twin. The spell soon took all it could, and the Twin’s body exploded, triggering the lamps inside the room.

The force of the lamps tore the granary apart as if it was nothing more than paper. The pressure wave collapsed the houses around them onto one another, falling apart as bricks shattered. The fire from inside rained onto the roof of the fallen houses, which soon caught fire. The air wave it started spread the fire incredibly quickly. The lamps outside joined the explosion.

Yet, the lamps in the granary still had more energy. The fire sped into the underground canal system, headed towards the center. Even the ground started breaking apart under the pressure.

Within a few seconds, a third of the city was falling apart.

+BREAK+

Marzanna’s POV

The center of Uru’baen surrounding the fallen palace was completely deserted. Not even the citizens were hiding inside their empty houses. They either left to hide elsewhere or left the city altogether.

But Marzanna could not care less. Their lives did not interest her. The dying daylight offered her enough shadows to hide from any stray soldier she might encounter. She had a better target in mind than some worthless human: Letho.

The last few months had changed her life dramatically. She knew that it was about to end. The elves would never trust her, and after the king’s death, she could return to her Urgal family. But Marzanna knew she would not be accepted again easily. Hunting Letho down and killing him would make it easier, while satisfying her thirst for his blood after his little stunt inside.

Boreas was able to point her to the last place he saw Letho while Marzanna and the rest of the group were still inside the palace. He might no longer be there, but she had to start from somewhere.

The entire situation reminded her of the old days, when she fought on her own while Boreas looked over the battlefield from above. It filled her with joy. Her Urgal childhood had taught her to enjoy a good fight.  It was almost perfect. Except for one thing.

Marzanna stopped dead in her tracks. “Ugh, Murtagh,” she growled through gritted teeth, turning to face him. “Thorn is not exactly helping us stay under cover.” She frowned at him as he approached her, finally catching up.

Murtagh sheepishly looked down. “I know, but he doesn’t fit on the ground between the houses. And he can see any troubles from afar,” waved Murtagh to Thorn flying above them. Marzanna rolled her eyes and turned on her heel to continue.

“I do not really need you here, actually. You can leave,” she informed him. His presence no longer made her uncomfortable, but she craved the solitude of the fight.

The Red Rider shook his head and followed her through the alleys. “Do not be ridiculous. Now is not the time to be alone. Besides, I know this city. I know it too well,” he said grimly.

“I can take care of myself. I have been doing so for quite a few decades.” Her words would have had more meaning behind them if she did not sway on her feet. Murtagh jumped to her, but she pressed a hand against a cold stone wall of a house.

Murtagh’s arms wrapped around her torso in a caring manner he saved only for her. From his expression it was clear that his bond with her was beaming with joy, yet there was still worry on his face. “You know, you have not been feeling well for quite some time. Ever since the incident with Vanir you are wea… eh, more fragile.” Murtagh quickly corrected himself after the nasty glance Marzanna gave him.

“I am not fragile. Besides, now is not the time for this. If you care so much, you can give me a check-up after we find Letho and win this battle,” Marzanna promised to shake Murtagh off her back, knowing full well no check-up would take place. She would be long gone.

That seemed to calm Murtagh. He did not let go off of her until Marzanna shoved her elbow into his stomach. Soon, they carried on with their hunt. They expected to find at least some life, but there was no one around them. It set an uncomfortable coil inside Marzanna’s stomach. There was something very wrong about the entire situation.

She was about to continue further when Murtagh’s hand on her own stopped her. She turned to him with a questioning look and he motioned for her to come closer. He leaned forward and whispered into her ear “Thorn said he spotted some dwarves enter a house not far from us.”

He barely finished the words when a loud sound erupted from under them soon followed by a minor earthquake. The ground seemed to break slightly. They managed to keep silent and stable, but the ground no longer felt safe. They exchanged confused looks and quickly but carefully continued forward to where the ground was not so damaged.

It was still a few more minutes before they reached the house to which Thorn pointed them. Suddenly, Marzanna asked “Do you smell that?”

Murtagh looked at her with a confused frown, sniffing the air a few times. “No. Neither does Thorn,” answered Murtagh with a shake of the head. While he was certain there was nothing in the air, he did not dare doubt Marzanna. “He said he spotted four weird serpent creatures on the other side of the city.”

“Never mind them,” said the she-elf, clearly distressed by them.

Soon, they reached the house. Unlike the others, it did not look deserted. There was a warm light inside of it. They approached the house and carefully walked around it, hoping to find some back door. They would not walk in through the main door. They weren’t Eragon.

The door was closed, but they managed to open it without a sound. Quickly they sneaked through it into what seemed to be a kitchen. There was no lamp inside, but it was still filled with the light of the lamp in the front room.

Even though they moved carefully into the front room, they were soon spotted by the only dwarf in the house. He was not dressed in armour like they had expected. Instead, he wore some odd purple coat and a veil over his face.

He let out a breath he had been holding and quickly turned on his heel to run away.

Marzanna and Murtagh reacted at the same time. While the she-elf created a frost on the ground, Murtagh shouted: “Blöthr!” _Stop_. The dwarf’s run was halted, but he still had momentum. He slipped on the frost and fell into a huge hole in the front room’s floor they had not noticed before.

They both rushed to the hole, which covered more than half of the other room’s size. From the way the dwarf’s neck was twisted it was clear he no longer needed medical attention. “Let’s not tell King Orik about this,” said Murtagh carefully. He already was off to a bad start with him.

They looked around the odd room, filled with various instruments. It seemed no one else was there.

Marzanna slowly walked towards the lamp inside the room, never seeing one before. Murtagh investigated the instruments. There was something familiar about them. “Saphira called for Thorn’s help. So do not worry, he cannot blow our cover now,” said Murtagh jokingly.

When he looked back, he saw Marzanna enamored with the lamp. He smiled softly, never seeing the look on her face before. “Those are special dwarven lamps they use underground. They manufacture them themselves. If I remember my studies in Farthen Dur correctly, they use amethyst to make them. A dwarven clan called Az Sweldn rak Anhûin is known for their amethysts.” He looked inside the hole again. “And it seems this one was one of them.”

The she-elf blushed slightly at her open vulnerability. She forced her eyes away from the lamp. But something Murtagh said caught her attention. “Wait, is that the clan that attacked Eragon? I only heard a little bit of it, but the name rings a bell.”

“That should be them,” murmured Murtagh, deep in thought. “These instruments are also familiar. The dwarves used them to destroy tunnels when the Urgal army was heading to Farthen Dur, in order to better control where they surfaced.”

“I have a feeling that that dwarf was not on our side,” said Marzanna uneasily, gripping Íssbrandr tightly. “The smell here is even worse,” complained the she-elf, her face twisted with disgust.

“I don’t smell anything,” Murtagh said again. But the she-elf barely understood him. His words were slurred. His eyes were frantically scanning the room.

Marzanna looked at him suspiciously. “Are you sure?” She asked carefully. “It smells like some sort of gas.” To her surprise, even her words weren’t as sharp as she intended. Her tongue felt heavy, unable to catch up with her brain.

They stumbled out of the house, not caring if they went through the front door or not. The entire world seemed hazy and the houses around them contorted into weird shapes. “Ulu-Uru’baen was built on some gas source. It le-let one elven lady see the future,” slurred Murtagh.

Even though they were now outside, the gas still permeated the air, dispersing through the cracks in the ground. And that was not their only problem. “Behind you!” shouted Marzanna.


End file.
